


Dark Lord Rising

by medusasdaughter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Black Hermione Granger, Hogwarts Era, Not a Love Story, Other, POV Tom Riddle, Personal Growth, Post-Hogwarts, Pre-Hogwarts, Slytherin Hermione Granger, Slytherins Being Slytherins, final pairing is a secret, no beta we die like men, using writing as a form of therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:40:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28128513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/medusasdaughter/pseuds/medusasdaughter
Summary: This was how Hermione found herself in an ugly looking building, called “Wool’s Orphanage” with sad greying walls, and strict looking grey woman called Mrs Cole scowling at her. A certificate was drawn out, that read Hermione Wool, Parents Unknown, Date of birth: 31/07/1927.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle
Comments: 10
Kudos: 77





	1. Wool's Orphanage

July, 1930

Hermione Granger has always been a very curious girl, and her father had always indulged her. He let her watch the news with him, he let her read every single book in the house, although he never figured out when exactly had his almost fours year old daughter learned to read. And he let her drag him around chasing after some creature or another every time they went on a walk, his kind laughing eyes never leaving her. He had also warned her baby-sitter, Ms Constance, not to bother stopping her when the little girl got that look of determination in her. And so, Ms Constance often found herself running around the neighbourhood, chasing around a curly haired toddler who had spotted a butterfly she read about in her books, and a squirrel with a specific marking she’d never seen before.  
It was this way that the 31st of July, 1930, had gone. Ms Constance took Hermione to London to buy her new books, while her parents were at their dentistry practice. They were walking down Charring Cross Road when Hermione spotted a man wearing a bright blue hat with embroidered stars that seemed to move, and she tugged on the old lady’s hand to show her “the man with moving stars on his head”. Ms Constance shook her head at the girl’s antics.  
“That’s not possible, Hermione. Now let’s go home” she huffed.  
Hermione shook her hand free and ran after the man with a funny hat, following him inside a weird looking pub, the kind where her parents would never take her. As soon as she stepped in, her eyes widened at all the people surrounding her. A tray of drinks was flying around the customers; all of them had sticks in their hands or next to them on the tables, and most of them wore the same pointy hats though none of them as bright as the man she followed inside. Remembering the hat with the moving stars, she spotted it again and followed the man to a back alley, watched him take out a stick of his own and tap the brick wall in a seemingly random pattern. She gasped when the wall suddenly disappeared, opening the way to the most colourful, amazing street she had ever seen. She stepped again, intent on following the man when he suddenly stopped and turned around, making her bump into him and fall on her bottom, her bottom lip thrusting out in a pout.  
The man had long auburn hair, and a long beard of the same colour that reached his waist, and his bright blue eyes twinkled over his half-moon shaped glasses as he smiled kindly at her.  
“Now who might this young lady be?” he asked, looking around her for any sign of a parent.  
“Hermione” she answered shakily.  
“And where are your parents, Hermione?”  
“At work”  
“Do you know their last name, so we can go look for them?”  
Hermione thought had about what other adults called her parents. Ms Constance only called them by their first names, and she was never allowed to stay when her parents had company.  
“Doctor! Their name is Doctor” she said, seemingly proud to have remembered that.  
Albus Dumbledore looked at her, coming to the conclusion that this little girl was a muggleborn witch. He sighed as he realized the search for her parents would be harder than he initially expected, the dream of a quiet day eating Fortescue’s ice-cream long gone. He grabbed her hand, asking her to follow him, and took them back to the muggle world, walking bristly past an old lady looking around frantically, and walked straight to the police station.  
They had spent hours at the station, with the girl growing more and more distressed, while the police officers grew more and more impatient.  
“For the last time, sir” started a detective, distastefully eying Dumbledore’s attire, “there is no missing child with the name of Hermione in our files, and Doctor and Ms Constance are not enough leads. If you want my opinion, she probably ran away from her orphanage and made up this silly story in her head. I see it all the time”  
Albus pursed his lips, not entirely convinced, but it was near nightfall and he couldn’t very well take this child with him to his home with all his experiments lying around. Besides, as much the wizard loved to teach, he had no clue on how to care for a toddler. Or was it a small child? No matter, there was no other choice. He sighed for the umpteenth time that day, and asked for the closest orphanage.  
“Our social assistant will take care of it” replied the detective in a firm voice.  
The auburn haired wizard crouched down in front of Hermione, her big tear-filled eyes causing his heart to constrict.  
“I will see you again very soon, Hermione”  
The girl latched on to his neck, refusing to let go, and started crying in earnest when a kind looking woman picked her up sending a nod to Albus. He was loathe to leave her like this, but he convinced himself it was for the best, and walked away from the station and back to his life.

This was how Hermione found herself in an ugly looking building, called “Wool’s Orphanage” with sad greying walls, and strict looking grey woman called Mrs Cole scowling at her. A certificate was drawn out, that read Hermione Wool, Parents Unknown, Date of birth: 31/07/1927. She was put in a room with three other girls, who were already sleeping by the time she got there, and spent the night crying into her dirty pillow.  
The next morning, she was given the same grey, scratchy, worn out uniforms all the other kids were wearing, and sent to play outside. Still refusing to lose hope that her parents would walk in and take her back to her warm, loving home, Hermione sat at the foot of a tree facing the front door. She stared at the rusty iron bars, the only thing separating her from her world, her family, and waited.   
Two hours passed, and she was still in the same position, back straight, and eyes unmoving; when three boys stood in front of her, blocking her sight to the door.  
“Please move” she said, as politely as she could.  
Two of the boys started snickering, while the tallest one, who had bright red hair, stepped closer to her.  
“You think you’re better than us?” he asked, grabbing a fistful of her curly hair and yanking her up.  
Hermione yelled in pain, as tears started burning her eyes again. This time it wasn’t out of sadness, but out of rage, a rage that burned a hole in her heart. She was tired, she wanted to go home to her parents, and she did not want to feel pain at the moment. Leaves started flowing in a circle around her, surrounding her and attacking her bully, scratching every patch of uncovered skin. The rustling sound masked the heavy footsteps coming her way. The boy dropped her, and ran away with his friends, leaving his victims in front of a scowling Mrs Cole. Hermione turned around to look at her with relief, gasping at the unexpected slap that left her cheek burning. She brought her hand up to the burning mark on her face, and bit back a sob as Mrs Cole started shouting in a shrill voice.  
“There will be none of that devil worship in my orphanage, and no frolicking with boys! The next time I catch you, you will be whipped in front of the entire staff and student body until you learn what discipline is, do you understand?”  
The old woman walked away without waiting for an answer, and Hermione swallowed her tears, shivering at the thought of earning Mrs Cole’s ire again. Her eyes fell on a pale boy, with neat brown hair and dark eyes, who was looking at her intently. He walked towards her, and she stepped back, already scared at the thought of another uncomfortable encounter. He stood in front of her, her back pressed on the trunk of the tree.  
“Don’t listen to her” he whispered, “she’s just scared because she can’t do what we can”  
“Do what?” she asked suspiciously.  
The boy looked around furtively, making sure no one was looking at them; then waved his hand making a yellow rose appear in his palm. Hermione smiled as she took the rose from his hand, and laughed when it turned into a yellow butterfly and flew away from them.  
“Tom Riddle”, he said, thrusting his hand at her.  
“Hermione… Wool they say, but I’m not sure” she answered as she shook his hand.


	2. Cave and Punishment

1936

Hermione was almost ten years old now, and she barely remembered her parents anymore. Kind brown eyes would sometimes appear in her dreams, but she no longer believed she had ever really met them. Surely, if she really did have parents, they would have found her by now. She had to grow up quickly, and let go of the _fantasies_ as Mrs Cole often liked to remind her. What she knew was that she was an orphan, and she needed to be smarter than everyone else if she ever hoped to escape the awful orphanage she was residing in.

She also knew the staff hated her, her punishments were always longer and much more frequent that anyone else’s. And she knew that all the other kids feared her, well, most of them anyway. The younger ones needed her too much to fear her. She remembered vividly her own first night spent in tears, so she held a soft spot for newly arrived babies and toddlers. As such, she would always hug them, sing them a lullaby to put them to sleep when Mrs Cole was too drunk to care that they were screaming their throats raw, and feed them when they were too small to hold their own cutlery. And they would cling to her legs whenever the bullies would get too close.

And then, there was Tom. Tom didn’t fear her, Tom was her only friend. Not someone who needed her to take care of them, but someone who took care of her. He always seemed to appear out of nowhere when the others started picking on her. And he was the only one who understood the importance of becoming successful, just like she did. They spent all of their time together, from sun-up till bed-time. They shared the few books they had been able to acquire, mostly by stealing them from their primary school. He had taught her how to trick the orphanage staff and get more food. He had taught her that whatever _weird things_ that happened when she was angry, or scared, could be controlled and wielded. He had taught her to focus her energy. He’d shown her each kid’s weakness, and how to use it to subdue them. And though Hermione had no interest in tormenting anyone, or interacting with anyone really, she never stopped him.

She said nothing when he started stealing from the other kids, not even when he started hurting some of them. How could she, when they all wasted no opportunity to torment her and her friend? She would stand by him, silencing her heart, repeating his words to her in her minds.

“It’s us or them, Hermione”, he had said to her a long time ago.

 _It’s us or them_ she told herself, as she watched Billy, who was terribly afraid of heights, found himself perched on the highest branch of a tree. Tom flashed a beaming smile at her, and she returned it with no hesitation. She’d recalled how Billy had trashed her friend’s notebook, and her smile grew wider. She believed it was only justice.

 _It’s us or them_ she told herself when she stood watch while Tom strangled Todd’s rabbit. Todd had pushed her on the ground so many times, she’d lost count of how many scars marred her knees. They had to make their own justice in a world that only showed them pain and unfairness.

 _It’s us or them_ she told herself when all of Tom’s roommates woke up covered in boils one morning. Tome himself had woken up with faeces in his bed for a whole week before he finally snapped. They only got what they deserved, and she was happy when she realized those boils were not only ugly but painful.

And when Tom and she were being whipped, she laughed out loud, making Mrs Cole curse and pray the Lord to relieve her from these devil struck hooligans. Hermione noticed than the whips never seemed to hurt her when Tom was with her, as if his power were protecting her. She’d often end up bleeding when she was on her own, but her friend always protected both of them.

And so, on the last day of that school year, Hermione had scrunched up her face, thinking hard on all the books she wanted, and knew were inside the school, and picturing them in hers and her friend’s bag; then felt her bag get heavier. Tom felt his strain on his shoulders, and he nodded at her with a smirk.

They left the school and started their way back to the orphanage, huddled together and slacking behind the others as they always did. Hermione was babbling about her grades for a few minutes when she realized she was talking to herself, and looked back to find her friend crouching on the side walk, hissing something at the dirt. She got closer to him and screeched at the sight of a black snake shimmering in the sunlight.

“Is that a snake? Why are you so close to a snake? Get away from it!” she screamed, the panic making her voice much higher than it usually is.

Tom shushed her furiously; looking around to make sure no one can hear them.

“They talk to me sometimes” he whispered.

“What do they say?” she whispered back, her curiosity pricked. Nothing surprised her from Tom anymore.

The snake seemed to hiss again and Tom chuckled.

“He says he can sense your fear” he said at her questioning look, “usually they just talk about food, or sunlight, still better conversationalists than the oafs we live with”

Hermione got closer and eyed the snake suspiciously. Tom took her hand in his, and guided it to the snake that seemed to lean in to her touch and started hissing again.

“He says he likes it”

Hermione broke out laughing.

“Pretty soon, you’ll want your own pet snake”

Tom just looked at her with the same unreadable face he almost always wore, and Hermione laughed harder, looping her arm around his.

“Come on, creepy. We’re going to be late”

Tom could feel something was wrong the minute they stepped into the orphanage. Mrs Cole was fuming at the door, her eyes shooting daggers at Hermione. She grabbed his friend by the hair and dragged her to her office screaming obscenities. The young boy followed them instinctively, but the old woman slammed the door in his face. He hadn’t turned around completely when Hermione’s screams started resonating against the empty corridor’s walls, louder than he’d ever heard them. He sighed at the sound, and silently walked back to his room, mentally registering the flash of red hair disappearing in the corner.

He had tried teaching Hermione to shield herself from the physical blows like he did. After all, if he could move things, or people, with his mind, then he could do anything he wanted. It was only a matter of control. But while Hermione was a natural at conjuring things, she lacked the self-control he had, and this time she had to endure it on her own.

Tom walked into his room, which he thankfully didn’t need to share with anyone anymore, not when all the boys were too scared to let their guards down around him. They preferred to cramp themselves in other rooms, and he agreed that it was probably safer for them. He sat down on his bed, closed his eyes, and cleared his mind, focusing on Hermione’s screams, letting the rage inside him spread to every limb. He knew he was the most powerful when he was angry. And he wanted to cultivate that power; because, even though he didn’t understand it yet, he knew it made him special. He knew that someday, somehow, his powers would be his ticket out of there.

Tom hasn’t figured out where that power came from, yet. He remembered the first day he had met Hermione, the way she took control over the winds and leaves, bidding them to protect her. It was still the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. Something had brought him a person who had the same abilities he had; and if he believed in God he would thank him.

Hermione wobbled into his room twenty minutes later, her once white shirt clinging to the still bleeding marks on her back, and flopped down next him. Her lips were opened from biting them, and her eyes were so swollen they looked shut. She silently took his hand in hers and though his shoulders tensed at the touch, he squeezed her hand back. He never allowed anyone to touch him, if he could avoid it. But this was literally the only person who really knew him, the only person close to what he was, or what he had the potential to be. He thought back at the first years he spent in this retched place without her, and squeezed her hand harder to fight the loneliness that submerged him. He was no longer lonely, so he wouldn’t let her feel alone either.

_It’s us or them._

That summer of 1936, the Orphanage, having received more donations than usual, took all of the kids to the sea side; which, in Tom’s eyes, was stupid since none of them had ever been taught how to swim. But they were at least able to breathe some fresh air, and Mrs Cole was spending too much time locked in a room with Mr Wool to pay attention to any of them. So Hermione and he sat under the sun, wiggling their toes in the warm sand.

Hermione shrieked when, out of nowhere, someone pushed her face into the sand, suffocating her. Panic rose in her chest as she tried to push herself off the ground, her hands only managing to sink further in the dry sand. Billy was now fifteen and strong enough to hold her with one hand. He finally let her go, letting a boisterous laugh out when she took a deep breath and immediately broke into a fit of coughing as she inhaled sand. Her tormenter started poking at her hips, trying to take her pants off, laughing even harder at her furious blush and frantic attempts at keep her clothes on.

She turned to look at Tom who had locked his emotions, his face unreadable once again, while three boys at least twice his size were taking turns pushing him. His hands were fisted by his sides, and he was looking at each and every one of them, as if to carve their faces into his memory. He didn’t even hear what they were calling out to him. He didn’t even react when one of them yanked at his underwear and pulled it to his ears. He just kept watching them, and if they were half as smart as they thought they were, they would have been scared.

Hermione was scared. She was scared at how murderous Tom’s eyes had turned. She was scared when, a few hours later, he woke her up at midnight and told her to follow him. And she was scared when she saw the four bullies follow them as well, with a dazed look on their faces.

“Why are they following us?”

“Because they’re doing what they’re told”, his tone was cold but firm so she didn’t probe any further; because she could suddenly hear her blood pumping furiously in her ears and she was scared.

When they started walking over slippery rocks, Hermione was terrified. And when Tom made her fly over 50 meters of treacherous waters towards the entrance of a cave, her heart nearly stopped, her eyes scrunched shut. The older boys followed soon after her in the same manner, and Tom closed the march after them, ushering them all inside the cave.

Tom lifted his hand, and the boys seemed to suddenly come to their senses. One of them, Jake, wet his pants; and they all huddled close together, eying their surroundings, loudly wondering how they got here. They all got silent when Tom took a razor blade out of his pocket. Hermione touched his arm to get his attention, but he jerked away from her and pinned her in her place with a silent glare. She took a step back, shakily hugged herself, and shut her mouth. Cold sweat dripped down her back.

“Now Billy, I want you to take this blade and carve out _arsehole_ on your friends’ … well, arses, and when you’re done, you will remove your clothes and stand still while I repay the favour” his voice was as calm as the weather before a storm.

Her palms were now sweaty as well, she rubbed them along her upper arms, contemplating whether it was because of the humidity of the cave or the scene unfurling in front of her.

The boys blanched and started walking away from Billy, but something glued their feet in place. They started whimpering right then and there, and by the time Tom’s punishment had been carried out, they were loudly screaming. Billy turned to the side and threw up. Hermione would have gladly emptied her stomach as well but stopped herself when she noticed that Tom was looking at her. She tried pleading at him with her eyes, until his voice resonated inside her head, and this time she wasn’t sure if it was a memory or if he had really intruded her mind to remind her. _It’s us or them._ She tightened her arms around her, and kept watching, some part of her noticing the smell of blood mixed with sea water.

The razor blade flew from Billy’s hands, lifted in the air, then started craving words on his back and buttocks all on its own, while he wailed like a pig in slaughter. Horrible words, words Hermione knew would be tattooed on her eyelids until the day she dies.

After what seemed like hours to Hermione, who was sure she’d never hear anything other than Billy’s screams; Tom finally looked satisfied, and turned to face his victims.

“If you touch one hair on us again, this will seem like child play. If you utter one word about this, I will personally make sure you never speak again. If you breathe wrong and I don’t like it, they won’t find enough remains to identify you. I will not repeat myself. Let’s go, Hermione” he turned and walked away, expecting his friend to follow him.

The brunette didn’t need to be told twice. She just wanted to shake the screaming from her mind, replace it with anything, _anything_. He stopped at the entrance of the cave and turned to face her.

“I can hear everything you’re thinking right now, your mind is so loud”, he groaned, rubbing at his temples before sighing and locking his eyes with her.

“I will not tolerate weakness from you, you’re better than that. We’re better than that”

She nodded, gulping down the sob that was threatening to come out. His face softened at that, and he opened his arms, instigating a hug for the first time since she’d met him; and Hermione gladly buried her face in his shoulders, her hands clinging to the back of his shirt like a lifeline, her body shaking, _and when had she started shaking?_

He rubbed her back until her breathing slowed down, then stepped back to look at her once again.

“Do you even know what they were thinking about you earlier?”

Hermione paled and shook her head.

“They will wake up in their beds tomorrow, with their memories of tonight intact, and they will never touch you again. Isn’t that what you want?”

She nodded. The screaming had faded now. She was safe. His hands on her shoulders felt warm, grounding her, protecting her. He wouldn’t hurt her; she had no reason to be scared. She was being silly. Those boys had it coming. They had hurt them, and Tom had protected them, protected her, as he always did.

“I will never let anyone touch you again. I promise”

Hermione smiled at him. Satisfied, Tom brought her back to her bed with no effort whatsoever. And the next morning, and from that day onward, no one ever tried to get anywhere near Tom Riddle and Hermione Wool again.


	3. Starry Hats and Magical Castles

July 1938

Albus Dumbledore followed Mrs Cole through the corridors of the Orphanage, trying his best to tune her ramblings out.

“Are you sure you want these two in your school for _gifted_ students? Because I can assure you, they are nothing but. They are devil worshippers. They will burn your school to the ground, mark my words”

“Yes, I’m quite sure”

She paused in front of a door, and pursed her lips at him.

“Alright, your funeral I guess. But here’s some advice, you’ll need it trust me. A stern hand will keep them in check, don’t hesitate to punish them, it’s the only thing that works. They’re in there” she pointed at the door then walked away muttering something about “sinners”.

Albus walked in, and almost gasped at the sight of a curly haired girl with big brown eyes. She had grown up, and the malnourishments had left her cheeks too hollow for an 11 year-old, but when her eyes met his, there was no doubt in his mind. The haunted look she gave him didn’t ease his guilt one bit. He looked at the boy next to her, just as thin, with skin so pale it was almost translucent; but his dark hair was neatly parted on the side, his clothes clean and freshly pressed, and he eyed him with unguarded curiosity.

The older wizard settled on a chair in front of the kids, and started his speech. By the time he was done, Tom’s face had shifted from curiosity to frank distrust. Hermione’s eyes flickered between her friend and the professor in front of them.

“You’re here to take us to the loony hospital. We heard _them_ talking about it, we’re not stupid. You won’t trick us”

Albus flicked his wand, smiling at the kid’s wide eyes, and cast flames and the closet behind, immediately freezing the fire. He kept it up for a few seconds, before putting it out and turning to face his future students.

“You’ll teach us how to do that?” asked Tom.

Dumbledore inclined his head.

“Hogwarts will teach you anything you’re willing to learn”

The hungry look in the boy’s eyes reminded him of his own thirst for knowledge when he was his age, and he allowed himself to smile briefly at him; until the closet started shaking behind his back. Dumbledore lifted his wand again, and a handful of trinkets flew in the air and landed on the bedside table.

Tom’s face closed off when Albus proceeded to explain that stealing was forbidden in Hogwarts, and almost looked bored when he was told to give them back. The reminder of his younger self back in his mind again, but this time it didn’t make him smile, it made him worry.

Taking a chance, he looked into the boy’s eyes. It wasn’t entirely legal, but Albus had learned to follow his instincts a long time ago. The older wizard fell into a cold abyss, surrounded by darkness, flying objects and yellow flowers. He delved deeper, trying to make sense of the fragmented images. He went past windowless cellars, and black belts slashing the air. Childish screams and delighted giggles filled his ears. He hit a cave wall when Tom broke eye contact. He still looked utterly bored, though his fists were squeezed so tight his knuckles turned white. Albus fought the sadness that threatened to spill and turned away from the young boy, making a mental note to keep an eye on him. Through all the vibrant colours and images, he hadn’t felt a single thing. The whole ordeal left him feeling cold despite the warming enchantments on his clothes.

The wizard turned his full attention to the little witch that was still staring at him, her eyes narrowed in deep concentration.

“Hermione, I was hoping I could speak to you in private, if you don’t mind”

Tom immediately turned suspicious again, and shifted in the bed to sit in front of Hermione as if he were shielding her.

“I thought we were both going to Hogwarts?” he asked suspiciously.

“Yes, you are. This matter I need to discuss is rather personal”

Tom looked at Hermione expectantly, obviously upset at being excluded, and she gently took his hand in hers before turning to Dumbledore.

“Whatever it is, you can say it in front of Tom”

Dumbledore took a scroll out of his pockets.

“When witches and wizards turn 11, their full names appear on this scroll. It would seem your real last name has been lost after your admission in this establishment, you are called Hermione Jean Granger”

Tom scoffed at him, interrupting him.

“So? Her parents abandoned her, why would she care what they named her?”

Hermione swallowed, looked at her professor, and nodded.

“If it’s all the same with you, Professor, that name means nothing to me, I’d rather keep the name I’ve gotten used to”

Dumbledore tipped his head at her, when a thought struck his mind. He silently summoned his favourite hat, electric blue and magically embroidered with moving stars. Hermione’s eyes widened in realization, but instead of a smile or even an acknowledgement, all Albus saw was a furious scowl. She retreated further behind Tom, blocking his sight.

The wizard sighed, mindlessly smoothing his auburn beard; he didn’t know what he had expected, nor the reason he’d even tried that at all. He supposed he at least expected a smile, maybe even relief, but all he saw was anger. He finished informing them of where they could buy their school supplies, and wasn’t surprised when they both shook their heads vehemently at the thought of him taking them to Diagon Alley. When everything was settled, he gave each of them a pouch of galleons from Hogwarts’ scholarship funds, and took his leave.

As soon as the door shut behind, Tom jumped on his feet and started pacing excitedly.

“I knew it!”

“No you didn’t” Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Yes, I did. I told you that our power could be controlled. I told you it made us special, and I told you it would get us out of here!”

“Very special, a whole school full of _special_ people” her laugh died in her throat at the murderous look Tom shot her. She sighed, and got up on her feet to step closer to him.

She took a deep breath, let go of her sarcasm, and hesitantly opened her mouth.

“What if we get there and we’re stupid? What if they finally realize I’m not a real witch and send me back here? What if…” she shuddered, and swallowed thickly before continuing, “what if we get separated, or you find better friends, or…”

“It’s us or them” he growled at her, “nothing changes that”.

Hermione sighed deeply, then beamed at him, finally letting her own excitement spread through her; and she grabbed his hands and spun him around, both of their laughs echoing in the room.

The next weeks went by in a blur. The first trip to Diagon Alley was overwhelming, to say the least, with too many distractions to take it all in. So they had gone back again, and again, and again until they knew it like the back of their hands. And they had read. First they had finished the textbooks because Hermione was sure that magical children would be far beyond them, and Tom secretly agreed with her, though it pained him to think so. Then they had read history books, because if they were to join the magical community, they needed to understand it. Then they had read whatever books appealed to them, because they both loved reading and the owner of Flourish and Bolts was nice enough to let them sit in the shop and read as long as they did so quietly.

And finally, September 1st arrived. Hermione hugged her only other friend in the orphanage, Mary, and promised to write her from “the posh boarding school”, while Tom impatiently tugged on her sleeve to get her going. They followed students with owl cages through the wall of the 9¾ platform, boarded the train, dragged their heavy luggage behind them, and took the first empty compartment they found. They were having the same argument for the umpteenth time when they got interrupted by two identical brunettes and a pointy blond boy.

Abraxas Malfoy was the second child, the spare heir to the Malfoy estate, and the runt of the family. His French cousins were older than him, twice his size, and bullied him mercilessly. His American cousins were loud idiots whose idea of fun was to see how much pain they could inflict. And his father’s friends loved nothing more than to point out every flaw they could see in him. His mother was always in her gardens caring for some flower or another. His brother, Darius, loved him dearly; but being about 7 years older than him and currently undertaking Potions mastery in Durmstrang, there was only so much time he could spend with him. And his father… well, his father had expectations.

And on September 1st, Abraxas could recite every single one of those expectations. Getting sorted in Slytherin was not negotiable. Having decent grades was a given, he couldn’t go around making people thing a Malfoy son was a squib. He wasn’t worried about that though, he had had the best instructors in the wizarding world since he was five. The most important thing was that he had to make the right connections, because that’s what school was really for, according to Cadmus Malfoy.

So he walked down the hallway of the Hogwarts Expressing, following behind the Nott twins, watching each and every face closely, committing them to his memory. Theophile was wordlessly opening every door they passed by checking for empty spaces, while Thoros followed after him, apologizing for the interruption and closing the door behind him; which was an accurate description of the Notts’ relationship.

Voices came out of the next compartment they checked

“What if we don’t get sorted in the same house?”

“Of course we’ll be, where would you possibly get…”

The two students abruptly stopped their conversation to look at the newcomers. They were obviously first years, obviously poor according to their clean but second-hand clothes, and obviously unused to the attention that was on them at the moment. Abraxas thought the look on their faces resembled that of a wild animal caught by a hunter, scared but ready to bite.

Theophile was the first to break the silence.

“Finally! I swear to Merlin, we checked every single compartment on this damned train. Come on, Thoros!”

Thoros followed after his brother, apologizing, again. Abraxas closed the door behind him and sat down opposite his future classmates. The girl was brown skinned, with a big mass of hair that seemed to change colours with every ray of sunlight that hit it. The boy was pale, with dark hair and obsidian eyes that looked at him and his friends with… was that distrust or disgust?

“Are you guys the orphans? My dad told me there were two magical students in the same muggle orphanage this year, I mean what are the odds??” blurted Theophile, too fast for any of them to react.

Abraxas stopped himself from palming his face, while Thoros hissed at his brother that it wasn’t polite to presume. Those black eyes shone with hate now. The girl seemed to feel it too, because she briefly touched her friend’s forearm, took a deep breath in and turned to Theo with a tight smile.

“You heard right. My name is Hermione, and this is my friend Tom”

“Theophile, but it’s a mouthful, you can call me Theo. This is my little brother Thoros” he said, reaching to ruffle his grumbling brother’s hair.

“They’re twins actually, I’m Malfoy, Abraxas Malfoy”

Hermione shook his hand, while Tom disappeared behind a book without a word to either of him. Abraxas immediately decided to keep an eye on them, especially the boy. He liked him because he was too small, too pale, too quiet, too poor; the kind of boy his father’s cronies would hate and that is exactly why Malfoy wanted to keep him close. He liked rooting for the underdogs, because that’s what he felt like. And if he ever wished to change the world, shape it to his liking, he needed the right circle.

_Malfoys don’t need to rule, we cultivate the right people and make them wear the crown and the responsibilities while we make the actual decisions._

Abraxas could hear his father’s words, loud and clear. He would cultivate the right people, but not the ones his father wanted; rather the ones he needed. So he decided to keep observing Tom, for now. He bought candy for everyone when the trolly came. He answered every one of Hermione’s questions, which seemed to appease Tom even though he was still pretending not to listen.

When Hermione stopped asking questions, after about fifty, Theophile opened his big mouth again.

“So, are your parents muggles or…?”

Thoros looked up from the book he had buried himself in, and glared at his brother.

“You do know what the word orphan means, right?”

“Well excuse me for trying to make polite conversation, your highness!”

“I’m pretty sure they are actually, I’ve never seen them do magic”, Hermione answered in a neutral voice.

Tom closed his book, and looked at his friend with a blank face.

“Do you remember them?” Thoros asked her, soflty.

“They were filthy muggles who abandoned her when they realized she had magic”

The answer was the first full sentence Tom had uttered in front of them, and Abraxas was immediately gratified for his decision to keep him close. Anyone who understood the threat muggles posed was someone worth talking to.

Theophile gasped, leaping to take a seat next to an uncomfortable Hermione and pressed her in his arms.

“Stupid arseholes is what they are, you’re ours now, you don’t need idiot muggles” he proclaimed loudly, making Hermione laugh in his arms.

Sometime in the afternoon, Abraxas had toured the train, greeting the students he knew, and introducing himself to those he didn’t. Then he made his mental predictions of where each of them would be sorted. He had a sinking feeling Tom would be in Slytherin, and couldn’t wait to test his theory.

When they finally rode the boats to Hogwarts, it was already nightfall; and his facial expression was mirrored in every first year around him: awe. The castle was magnificent, it was bigger than any painting or picture could depict, and imposing in an ancient manner, but what appealed to him most was the magic that seemed to ooze from every brick stone. Abraxas smiled, this was going to be his home, and he was determined to make it a better home than the Malfoy Manor had ever been to him.

Hermione fidgeted, ignoring every irritated look sent her way, even Tom’s. She was used to people being annoyed at her. What she wasn’t used to was talking hats judging her. She had come to hate magical hats, whether they had moving stars or ugly mouths. Hats only seemed to bring her misery.

“But what if we get sorted in different houses?” she asked again, and Tom groaned, again.

She watched her fellow students go one by one, purposely ignoring Professor Dumbledore who was still staring at her, even while he called the different names on his list. The Gryffindors seemed to cheer the loudest whenever a student got sent their way, and she almost wanted to yell at them to shut up. She needed to hear herself think, she needed this damned sorting to be done, and she also needed the earth to swallow her because she wasn’t sure she could take this anymore. She caught her breath when Tom’s name was called. The Hat barely touched his hair before shouting _Slytherin_. She was almost jealous.

“Wool, Hermione”

Finally, Professor Dumbledore called out her name, and her heart dropped to her stomach. She walked to the stool like a condemned man to his death. She briefly locked eyes with Tom, who suddenly seemed just as anxious as she felt, before the Hat slid over her eyes, blocking her vision. She almost expected it to tell her it had all been a mistake and that she should go back to her orphanage. It chuckled instead. It was an uncomfortable sound that resonated in all of her head.

_You are definitely not a mistake, you are indeed a witch and a powerful one at that. Smart, brave, ambitious, and loyal. Where shall I put you ?_

I want to stay with my friend.

_Like I said, loyal. But Ravenclaw could do so much for you, are you sure you want to join the snake pit?_

Yes.

_Rowena would be disappointed indeed, though dare I say Godric would certainly be proud of you._

What?

_You’ll understand soon enough, now let’s get you to…_

_Slytherin!_

Hermione removed her hat and joined the table at the far end of the Great Hall, where her fellow students were politely clapping. She watched the crest on her robe change to the green and silver crest of Slytherin, and smiled at Tom who returned it smugly.

Eileen Prince was the seventh of seven girls, or like she liked to call it, “the seventh disappointment”. The Prince family had fled France right before the fall of the monarchy in 1789, which they may or may not have had a hand in. They had established themselves as a respectable pureblood family in England, and her father was the only heir. So after her birth, he had been devastated to think that no one would carry the family name, blamed her mother for their misfortune, and moved to the continent to look for some other pureblood bride. They hadn’t heard from him since, though he still provided for them. Eileen had never even met the man.

She had been looking forward to Hogwarts for as long as she could remember, her house was too morose since her father left and she desperately wanted to start her own life. Her older sisters had all been in Ravenclaw, the last one having graduated the year before. This meant she not only was the first Prince to be sorted in Slytherin, but she was also the only Prince currently residing in the castle, which was exactly what she needed.

The young witch sat in the common room, and observed the other first years while the head girl, Salma Shafiq, gave them a welcome speech.

Lucretia Black, Callisto Selwyn, and Hermione Wool would be her dorm-mates, while Theophile and Thoros Nott, Byron Mulciber, Abraxas Malfoy, and Tom Riddle would share the boys’ dorm.

Salma was going over the rules, when Mulciber, a big brutish boy, interrupted her with a disgusted look.

“How are we supposed to share our dorm with Mudbloods?”

The common room fell into an uncomfortable silence.

Salma pursed her lips at him.

“Intra house fighting will not be tolerated, nor will be name-calling or bullying of any kind. Here in House Slytherin, we stand up for each other and we bring honor to each other. Is that clear?”

“Salazar is turning in his grave” muttered Mulciber, followed by others around them.

Eileen sighed, for supposedly cunning people, they were incredibly dense.

“You do know Merlin himself was a muggleborn right? And he was personally chosen by Salazar Slytherin” she drawled.

Mulciber looked at her, confused. Typical, all brawns, no brain, all men were the same really.

“Besides, Slytherin never really cared about blood, he worried about split loyalties” chimed Malfoy,

He looked at Hermione with a calculating look.

“You wouldn’t choose Muggles over us, would you?” he asked.

The curly haired witch looked offended.

“I’d rather lose my magic than side with any of those animals”

Malfoy clasped his forearm on hers in a public display of acceptance, and a flutter of magic settled over them, silencing everyone around them.

The seriousness of the moment was interrupted by a loud crash coming for the dorms’ door that startled all of them.

Salma turned to the origin of the sound, and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Alphard, please tell me you didn’t believe growing breasts would allow you to access the girl’s dormitory?”

“But I heard they give you guys bath salts!” whined said Alphard.


	4. La Relève de Serpentard

The Slytherin first years scattered down to their dorms while the older students stayed to watch the Head Girl admonish the Quidditch team’s captain.

While each girl started making her bed her own, hanging family pictures, and putting clothes away in the individual closets, Hermione ignored the trunk at the foot of her bed and walked straight to Eileen’s, who had settled on the furthest corner. She hovered next to her for a few seconds, rubbing her arms in thoughts before steeling her nerves and asking the question that had been burning her.

“Is it true?”

“Is what true?” Eileen asked annoyed.

“What you said about Merlin being a Muggle-born, is it true? I’ve read about him, and I haven’t seen that anywhere.”

“Of course you didn’t, it’s the worst kept secret in the magical community. Merlin, Bertrand Lacroix, the inventor of Amortentia, Herpo the Foul, the first documented Dark Wizard. All Muggle-borns.”

“That can’t possibly be true!” exclaimed Lucretia while plopping down on Eileen’s bed, who was starting to look like she regretted this conversation deeply.

“Think about it”, chimed in Callisto, coming to stand next to them completing a makeshift circle, “all wizarding lines had to start somewhere right? Yet no one knows who their first ancestor was, because no one keeps records of _filth_ , once they enter wizarding history the past is forgotten.”

“So what’s all that loyalty talk Abraxas was giving me?” asked Hermione

Eileen sighed.

“Abraxas is well-intentioned, but he jumped the gun as it is. Technically, any Muggle-born can start their own line with the right patronage, which a Malfoy can definitely give, but loyalty is the last thing to be asked.”

“It goes a lot further than that”, agreed Callisto, “What you need to understand, Hermione, is that the magical community has always been a minority, as it will always be. And after the witch hunts, so many of our monuments were destroyed, family lines were ended, magic was lost. We have a duty to protect what’s left of it.”

“But I’ve read so many books”, Hermione furrowed her brows, “and I couldn’t find anything that you’ve told. How can I protect a culture I don’t know?”

Callisto and Eileen shared a scared look, and Lucretia clapped her hands in delight.

“We’ll teach you!” the young Black said, looking at her dorm mates pointedly.

Eileen turned her back on them and went back to organizing her books. Callisto pleaded at her friend with her eyes.

“Seriously Lu? I thought Hogwarts meant the end of damned etiquette lectures!”

“Well, Callie, this time we’ll be the ones giving those damned lectures.”

With that mischievous look, Lucretia Black looked like a right Slytherin, and Hermione wondered if she should be grateful or worried.

The Selwyn witch bit the inside of her cheeks.

“You know, you might just be right.”

They turned to Hermione in tandem, with a Cheshire smile on their faces.

“We’ll do it!”

Eileen groaned into her books, and turned to scowl at Hermione.

“Fine, I’ll do it as well, but only because these two bitches will turn you into a carbon copy of them, and I can’t be living with three princesses for seven years.”

They all got pulled into a group hug by a giggling Lucretia, and Hermione let herself be hugged by squealing girls, and found she even enjoyed it.

Hermione spent the rest of the term studying with her dorm mates after classes, and she was glad she had all her textbooks during the summer. From walking, to talking, to eating, to dancing, her unofficial tutors were relentless. They had been joined at some point by Thoros Nott, whose father was a notorious genealogist and historian, and who made sure she knew wizarding history better than old professor Binns. Eileen took responsibility for her political studies, as well as potions tutoring starting October for their entire study group. She had a way of making potion making sound like art and they were all grateful for her. Hermione, in return, had corrected their essays, and helped them practice their charms work, which had quickly become a specialty of hers.

By the end of the term, every professor was singing the Slytherin house’s praise. And Hermione was actually sad to bid her friends good bye for the Christmas holidays.

Tom was both disappointed and utterly enchanted by Hogwarts.

The first term was exciting, and confusing, and frustrating, and the best four months of Tom’s whole life.

First of all, the boys’ dormitory, while shared by all the boys of his year, had privacy walls between each bed. He was now sleeping in green silk and a comfortable duvet that felt like he was floating. And the common room was littered with elegant leather sofas and loveseats, the walls were lined with books, and the fire was always roaring. One wall was entirely made out of glass, and looked into the Black Lake. He woke up at dawn every day to see the black water of the night turn into a greenish hue once hit with the sunlight, and he felt at peace.

Second of all, the classes were so entertaining he wondered how he had survived all those years in muggle school. He took to it like fish to water, the spells rolling out of his wand as if they had been waiting for him; and eh relished in every praise sent his way.

Third of all, he was still surrounded by idiots, just like always. _A whole school full of special people… Pff, take that, Hermione!_ He thought smugly. The big, bad, bathed in magic since child birth wizards he was worried about were bumbling idiots, starved for attention, and desperate for someone to tell them what to do. They had all been incredibly easy to put in his pockets, once he knew which buttons to push.

Theophile didn’t want to run to his brother for help anymore, and was terribly scared of disappointing his father. So Tom let him copy his assignments and discreetly tutored him in classes, avoiding him the embarrassment of ever asking for help, or admitting he was anything less than the future head of his family.

Abraxas wanted to come out of his older brother’s shadow and prove that he was worth his name. So Tom listened to him when he talked, utterly enthralled by the young boy’s ramblings. Or rather pretended to listen, there was only so much quidditch talk he could take.

Byron was a big brute with whom he had dealt within the first week. After yet another “mudblood” comment, he had pushed him over a moving stair case. Without any witnesses, of course. He had then left him hanging by his robes, stuck between the bannister and the wall, while he went to call for help. Professor Slughorn had thanked him for saving a fellow student. And Byron had started following him like a lost puppy, looking for his approval before turning that nasty tongue of his on the other students. It was extremely satisfying.

Thoros was more complicated, he didn’t seem to want anything but to read and paint in peace, so he had left him for Hermione. She was more suited for the boring stuff anyway. The boy was thus loyal to her, and by extension to Tom.

Eileen was hungry for knowledge, she’d always follow the smartest person in the room thanks to her Ravenclaw upbringing. This meant she would always side with Tom.

Lucretia and Callisto were pureblood princesses who followed their fathers’ instructions to the letter. He didn’t need them for now, but they reminded him of whose families he would need on his side to succeed.

The professors simply adored him. Well, most of them did anyway. Dumbledore didn’t warm up to him at all. He had started looking at him even more suspiciously after the Byron incident, even when all the other staff members congratulated him for looking out for his housemate. But he didn’t mind Dumbledore, his word alone meant nothing. It only meant that he had to be careful, and keep an innocent face at all times.

The first day of the holidays found him in the common room, waiting for sunrise. Hermione walked in, dressed in uniform just like him. They didn’t have bespoke sur-mesure clothes to rub on their fellow students’ faces outside of classes, but he didn’t really care. For now.

“I haven’t seen you in a while” she said softly.

“You see me every day, don’t be ridiculous.”

“I know but it’s not the same anymore”, she said softly.

“I don’t see you complaining”, he said without turning.

Tom jumped up in pain when Hermione punched him in the arm. He turned to scowl at her.

“Am I wrong?”

She huffed, and crossed her arms.

“Well, you don’t exactly need me anymore either, do you? You’ve got your posy following you around.”

“And you’ve got yours.”

There was no malice in his words. He smiled at her, and tucked a wayward curl behind her ears.

“If we did that in four months, what do you think we’ll do in seven years?”

She smirked back, and turned to admire the shimmering water swirling behind the glass. He did the same, and they stood there for a while, both enthralled by the sight and lost in their thoughts.

“I missed you too”, he added after a while.

Tom started to head for the common room’s door when Hermione’s indignat voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Why are your books and parchments scattered everywhere?” she asked, finally noticing the mess he had made. Magic made things so easy, he didn’t have to be overly neat anymore, when a flick of his wand could help him. Well, not just a flick of his wand, rather a variation of Wingardium Leviosa. But after begrudgingly observing Dumbledore wordlessly clean up twenty students’ messy desks, he had started reading more material, assured that he would get there in no time. _Dumbledore is not a better wizard than I am, he’s just older._

“Tom, you did it again.”

“Did what?” he turned to Hermione, and noticed for the first time that her cheeks were fuller than he’d ever seen her. She looked like a proper child now.

“That far away face”

She peered at the books’ covers.

“Why do you have a record of Hogwarts students? And how on earth did you get your hands on it?”

She was in the middle of snooping at the rest of it, when he waved his want, muttering the incantation, and the books immediately flew out of her hands and into his own dormitory.

“Research”, he grumbled.

She looked at him with something that resembled sadness in her eyes, and he suddenly found he absolutely hated her on that moment. It was a flicker that merely lasted a second, before she grinned at him with a sly mannerism she definitely didn’t have back at Wool’s.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Tom pondered it. Hermione had been spending an awful lot of time with people who talked about something other than quidditch, and he didn’t have to show her everything. Some things, like finding his father, were no one’s business but his own. _Because obviously, his magic had come from his father, no self-respecting witch would die at a muggle orphanage ten minutes away from St-Mungo’s._

However, the other subject of research was one with which he knew he would need help. But he didn’t want to seem too eager, not even in front of Hermione.

“How do I know you even have something of interest to me?” he asked in his best haughty voice, which only seemed to make his friend laugh. Now he was definitely sure he hated her.

“I have the Prince family’s very own potions books; and they make Slughorn sound like an illiterate buffoon.”

He hated her still, but she was useful.

“I think Dumbledore is a legilimens.”

Hermione’s smile fell at once.

“How could you possibly…”

“He used it on me.”

She scoffed at him, turning back into her insufferable self.

“That is preposterous, Tom. First of all, it’s illegal, second of all…”

“I know what I felt, Hermione” he cut, “twice.”

She had fallen silent, her brown eyes comically big now, and she was chewing on her lips.

“He did it back at Wool’s, and again after Byron’s accident.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him.

“It wasn’t an accident, was it?”

He shrugged, but gave her no answer. She wasn’t expecting an answer, as she knew him as well as he knew her.

“It’s still illegal, and to use it on a student no less. That irresponsible lunatic, I hate him.”

She had started pacing, and Tom decided right now that he loved her even when he hated her, for only Hermione would gloss over his own prohibited activities this easily.

“Illegal or not, I… _we_ need to be able to defend ourselves.”

She stopped in her tracks, and turned an incredulous face to him.

“You can’t mean… occlumency? The mind is far too complex, and far too precious, to just experiment with this. Accomplished experienced wizards can’t do it.”

“But we’re better.”

He shouldn’t have to argue this, she should already know.

“All we need is practise”, he said and moved to take her hand in his, “and we trust each other, don’t we?”

He looked at her with what he called his Hermione look, apprehension and hopefulness, sincere but no too trite.

“Of course we do!”

_Good answer, Hermione._

“So we’ll help each other.”

It wasn’t an answer, and she knew it. In her mind, she was already making a new study schedule for the holidays with specific time slots for occlumency training, and he smiled in victory.

He didn’t hate her at all.


	5. The price of happiness

After a lot of reading, and curbing down Tom’s impatience, they had decided to start with mind exercises before attempting to enter each other’s minds. The first one was meditating.

Hermione, not that she would ever tell her oldest friend, hated those. She almost agreed with him when he called it a load of crap. But she also believed in hard work, so she did it every day. Well, she sat in silence everyday but she was pretty sure it wasn’t meditation.

The second exercise, which she liked a lot better, was developing awareness. One cannot defend themselves when they’re not even aware that they need to do so. They had to return of the other students and beginning of classes to work on it. They had to work on constantly being mindful of everything happening around them, with as little emotion as possible; to be the perfect spectator, to always stay in control.

When all the first years were scattered in a corner of the common room, Hermione realized it would be much easier said than done.

“So Callie”, Lucretia started, her voice a touch too high, “how’s Deo?”

“Ew, no! I am not enabling your disgusting crush on my brother. No. Thoros, switch places with me.”

Thoros came to sit next to Lucretia with an apologetic crush.

“Come on”, she whined, “I’m just being polite.”

“Orion, control your sister!”

“The way I see it, Selwyn, the sooner she marries into your family, the sooner she’ll be out of my hair.”

Lucretia punched her brother’s arm, who was perched on the arm of the couch Thoros and her were occupying.

“Speaking of my favourite Blacks”, Thoros said, ignoring both their snorts, “have you spoken to your uncle Altair?”

“Actually, I showed him your art, and he loved it!” exclaimed Lucretia.

“Really? Because Hermione has helped with the animation enchantments, I think I’m getting better.”

Thoros’s eyes were shining with excitement as he pulled out his latest sketches.

Callisto was staring at Eileen with a disgusted look on her face.

“Eileen, honey, I don’t mean to be rude but what the hell happened to your hair?”

The prince witch huffed and smoothed it down her head, which only managed to make it look greasier.

“It’s the potions fumes”, she grumbled, “no spell can get them off.”

“What potion are you working on?” Tom asked her, gladly interrupting Byron’s retelling of the latest game between the Appleby Arrows and the Falmouth Falcons.

She perked up at that.

“This year’s curriculum, but I’m experimenting with different prep techniques. The ingredients we have here are usually old, dry or both. You’d need to prepare them adequately…”

“Hey Selwyn! Look what I can do!”

Theophile, who was ecstatic to now be sitting next to Callisto, freed a snitch for a small box and leapt up to catch it, stumbling and walking over anyone unlucky enough to be sitting next him. Thoros picked up a sketch of his that now bore his brother’s shoe print. Ironically, the sketch used to depict a snitch that now hovered on the corner of the parchment away from the muddy print.

“Theo, you big troll!”

“Aw Rossie, did I ruin your pwetty drawing?” drawled Theo, reaching over to grab his brother in a headlock.

Callisto eyes them both in disdain and got up to change places yet again, opting to plop down on a cushion next to Hermione.

“So Tom, remember my brother Darius? I told you he’s in Durmstrang, right? I told him about you, and he wants to meet you this summer!”

Tom turned his attention to Abraxas, and smiled while he started a riveting tale of his brother’s latest adventures.

“What’s up with you?”

Hermione turned to face Callisto, one eyebrow raised.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re pulling the exact same face Tom sports everyday”, Callie muttered with a scowl, “oh sweet Circe, please don’t tell me I’ll have to deal with your crush as well…”

Hermione burst out laughing.

“Gods no, nothing like that. I’m just thinking.”

“Well make it less obvious, you look like you’re constipated.”

She turned away from her friend to converse with Leto Zabini, who had taken the other cushion on her side. Hermione pondered her friend’s words. Dry comments weren’t unusual, coming from Callisto Selwyn. But if she were to defend herself of mind magic, subtlety was key. She needed to do more reading. A tugging sensation at her temples made her look up sharply, and she met Tom’s eyes with her own. He was looking at her intently, and the tugging sensation intensified. It felt the same it had when he had comforted her in the cave; like he was there inside her brain but too elusive to catch. Only that day, she had thought she was insane, she wasn’t aware that magic existed; she was scared and confused and dismissed it. This night, she knew better. She broke eye contact with a smile. Leave it to Tom to try legilimency without any kind of training, _and succeed_.

The rest of the term went by in a successful blur for Tom, who seemed to be a natural at legilimency; and a frustrating blur for Hermione who was starting to get tired of her own mind.

Slytherin House won the cup, and soon enough they were all boarding the Hogwarts express back home.

While conversations about summer plans went on around them, Hermione and Tom wore sombre expressions. When the other students got off the train to hug their relatives, the two orphans resumed their fifth fight of the day about whether or not they should keep their wands in their pockets. They boarded the bus to the orphanage with Tom stubbornly refusing to put it anywhere apart from his pocket.

“How could they possibly know if I use you-know-what?”

“For the last time, Tom, it’s the Trace.”

“We could have stolen a wand and used it instead of ours, then they’d accuse someone else.”

“If you had read the law books I suggested instead of all those poisons books you adore so much, you would know it has to do with that. It’s the location; we’re the only you-know-whats who lives around Wool’s. The minute they detect …” she looked around and whispered “magical activity, they’ll know it’s one of us and we’ll get expelled.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, you must have read it wrong.”

She gasped at that.

“Excuse you?”

“So according to you, students who live with adult you-know-whats can use it freely whenever they want.”

“Precisely” she sighed, “I know, it’s unfair, but we don’t have a choice and I am not going down for your temper so you better keep it together.”

If eyes could shoot, Tom would have killed her right then and there. He crossed his arms and sulked all the way back to the Orphanage. Hermione didn’t even feel like cheering herself up, so she left him to his sour mood. She felt despair fill her the closer they walked to their _home_. She knew Tom had asked the headmaster to stay at Hogwarts for the summer, as well as their head of house, and she had understood the reasons for their refusal. But as she stood in front of the rusty iron bars of the door to their prison, she felt hatred seep in her heart.

Tom immediately shut himself away in his room, and didn’t emerge for three days. Hermione suspected him of hoarding away a stash of Hogwarts food, but the truth was that she missed magic. She missed the castle, and her friends, but most of all she missed feeling her magic flow through her. She felt incomplete, restless. So she busied herself with her only other friend there, Mary. They practised braiding each other’s hair, to protect it from the heat. They took care of the babies, who were still mostly abandoned to their devices. And they made fun of Mrs Cole slurred speeches behind her back.

On the third night, Mary even managed to sneak away a bottle of gin, and they sat on the garden hoping to catch a breeze and passing the bottle in between them. Hermione thought it was foul but her older friend took big gulps of it and remained lucid enough to tuck away the young girl’s hair in tight cornrows. Hermione tried telling her as much as she could of Hogwarts, without giving away anything. She mostly talked about Scotland’s landscapes, and the beautiful lake that they all swam in the day before coming back.

And because no happiness ever lasted, at least in Hermione’s experience, Billy appeared at that exact moment. He seemed to take offense in the fact that “a dirty negro” was living her best life in a fancy boarding school while the rest of them were left behind. Mary ran away, and Hermione took the punches and kicks he threw her way in silence. She imagined all the way she could hurt him with a flick of her wand, while he knocked the wind out of her. She took every insult, every wound, turned it into anger as she had learned to do, and pushed towards her skin as a shield. It was a skill that she had learned with great difficulty, but she knew she could do it. She knew she could. She waited for the hits to start hurting less, to fade away, to turn into a soft caress like they always do. They didn’t. They didn’t stop hurting until she passed out.


	6. Always

Tom woke up on the fourth day of summer break in a horrible mood. The food he managed to sneak in with him hadn’t lasted as long as he wished; his summer homework was done as well. Now all he had to look forward to were nine more weeks in hell. He hated this place, the scared faces marred with angry hand marks, the sadness so deep you feel it dripping from the dirty walls, and worst of all, the utter lack of magic. Everything was ordinary and ugly, just the way he left it.

He skipped the grey mush that passed for breakfast, and set out to look for Hermione. That older girl he saw her with sometimes told him she’d be in the nursery. He wrinkled his nose at the thought, but headed there. She had her back to him when he arrived, and she was changing some baby’s smelly cloth diapers so he stayed safely near the door.

“I’ve been thinking.”

“Good for you.”

Tom frowned. He usually was the one in a mood, and Hermione was the one to cheer him up. Shrugging at her peculiarity, he continued.

“We should keep practising what we started. Technically they’re not spells just mind exercises, so I don’t think the Trace will pick it up.”

“Pass me that bottle on your right.”

Tom picked up the milk bottle, and walked over to Hermione ready to snap at her. When she turned to take it from him, he finally saw the black eyes she was sporting. Her lip was busted, there was dried blood on her nose, and she was hunched over as if standing was too painful.

“What the fuck happened to you?”

“Billy”

She snatched the bottle from his hands and turned to feed the baby she had finished changing.

“I thought I taught you how to shield yourself from that.”

She picked the baby up, adjusted his head on her should, and started bouncing.

“It’s not working anymore.”

The baby burped, she wiped his face with a cloth, and put him back in his bassinet.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, supressing a shudder and the waste staining her shoulder.

She picked another baby and started feeding him as well, still not meeting Tom’s eyes.

“Will you drop that damn thing and look at me?”

Hermione finally looked up, her eyes were sunk in their sockets and surrounded by angry dark red bruises.

“What do you mean it’s not working?”

She sighed.

“I could feel my anger, and with it my magic, like always. But I couldn’t get it to focus, I couldn’t channel it, I was just as helpless as a m..”

“No, don’t say that, it’s not possible.”

She started bouncing the second baby again.

“Well, evidently it is, I think I’m helpless without my wand.”

Tom started pacing away from her. His wand was still safely tucked away in his pocket. But he hadn’t tried using magic since they got back to London. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t tried using wandless magic since he got to Hogwarts, not the way he used to do. Stopping in his tracks, he focused his sight on the lap above his head and called on his magic. It filled him, it flowed in his blood, from his toes to his hair tips, drumming with his heartbeat. But the lamp didn’t light up. It didn’t even flicker. He turned around to face Hermione, feeling terrified for the first time in years.

“They gave us a crutch” he whispered, “they made us dependable on a damn stick. And now we’re useless.”

She was done with her tasks, and had crossed her arms around her body, still hunched over her belly.

“Yes.”

“So I guess we’re back to our old tactics.”

“Always work together, and only one of us sleeps at a time?”

“You know the drill.”

She sighed, and nodded.

That plan worked for two weeks. Until the day Mrs Cole decided to search his things, and found his magic books. She came to drag him away to her desk, and at the same time Billy and his cronies surrounded Hermione. He saw his friend’s resigned face, felt Mrs Cole’s hands drag him to her desk. The second before they reached it, Hermione’s screams started resonating. The greying women shut the door, muffling the horrible sounds, and pointed at the pile of books on her desk. Magic books. The statute of secrecy… he was doomed. She went on and on as she always did, then took out a match and lit it. Tom had already grabbed his wand in his pocket, and as soon as he saw the flames, he reacted. He could stomach being expelled, but he couldn’t stand seeing his precious books burned by that horrible woman. It only took a second, but to him time seemed to stretch on.

“Reducto!”

The door and the brick wall exploded, wood splinters flew everywhere, a stone hit the woman’s head, rubble and dust surrounded him. With a smile, he realized neither he nor the books were touched. He was powerful, more powerful than any of those muggles or their God.

Tom walked over Mrs Cole’s unconscious body, and climbed the stairs two by two. He followed Hermione’s screams to the garden outside. Tucking away his wand again, without letting go of it, he called out Billy’s name.

The boy, who was almost a man now, comically paled. Tom didn’t hold his laugh when the boys scattered away from him, tripping over each other. He made sure no one was looking at him, and crouched near Hermione. Her face wasn’t much different, but she was clutching her sides, and silent tears were leaking from her eyes. He sighed and reached out to wipe them when a voice stopped him in his track.

“I am very disappointed in you, Tom.”

That voice. No, no no no no. Dread filled his every being. Tom turned to find himself face to face with Albus Dumbledore in all his bright orange glory.

“I am going to need your wand, Tom, you leave me no other choice.”

Tom reached in his pocket, his mind racing. He could steal another wand, and run away. There were other magical schools; he could prove to them he’s a wizard and get enrolled. He had to think of a solution.

“No!”

Had he said that? Hermione was now in front of him, her arms spread out as if she could physically stop Dumbledore.

“No, you can’t punish him.”

“The law is the law, Hermione. Believe me, it brings me no pleasure.”

“I did it.”

What was she talking about? He exploded a wall, and injured a muggle, it was over for him.

“I used magic.”

“Hermione, a woman was hurt. You do know the consequences you’re about to face, don’t you?”

“She was hurting Tom. I had to.”

“Even if it were in self defense, it would be inexcusable Hermione. The damage to the wall alone is concerning, what were you thinking?”

Dumbledore sighed, and held out his hand

“Your wand, please.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s my first offense, done to defend a fellow wizard. The standard procedure would be to issue me a warning. At my second offence, I appear in front of the Wizengamot. A no point do they mention the deputy Headmaster confiscating my wand.”

Dumbledore was looking down at her coldly.

“I assure you the Wizengamot agrees with me, especially considering the heinous actions you just proved yourself capable of.”

“You’ll excuse me if I don’t take you at your word.”

They stared down at each other for what seemed like an eternity.

“I will see you both at the welcoming feast. Try not to hurt any other of your caregivers until then.”

The minute Dumbledore disapparated away, Hermione collapsed on her knees, clutching her sides once more.

“Why would you do that?” Tom finally asked.

“It’s us or them, remember?”

“You could have been expelled.”

“You saved me, countless times. I will always help you Tom. Always.”

Her face had turned ashen. Tom helped her to her feet and walked her to the nearest hospital. It took them half an hour to get there. After that, he had to wait in an overly white waiting area, surrounded by crying families. The smell of blood and disinfectant filling his nostrils made him nauseous. He stayed put for two hours, scowling at anyone that tried sitting next to him, until the doctors discharged them.

When they went back to the orphanage, they were told Mrs Cole had a stroke and had been taken to a hospital. He met Hermione’s eyes, who mouthed “obliviators” to him and they both smiled. They were finally rid of the old hag. That only left old Billy, who still hadn’t forgotten what Tom was capable of. He made sure of that, resurfacing the memory whenever he peered inside his mind. That means they were safe, for now. Still the news was enough to make them smile.

The new caregiver, Miss Turner, was just as careless as her predecessor, though far less violent. She believed that love healed everything. She made a point of meeting all of them, but when Tom burst out laughing at her first mention of love, she dismissed him. In fact, she dismissed all of them once the pictures of the newest caregiver with her charges were taken. Tom and Hermione spent the rest of summer holidays in Diagon Alley. The book store owner still liked them well enough, and they were even able to practise spells now. He had been so impressed after seeing Tom practise a summoning spell from a fourth year book that he gave them the green light to do whatever they want in the back room, as long they didn’t leave any damage.

All in all, Tom thought this was definitely his favourite summer he’d ever lived.


	7. The Knights

1939

Thoros Nott was happy in Hogwarts. He had expected to hate it, he expected he’d be lonely, and had resigned himself to follow his more sociable twin like he always did. Theo never had any difficulties with “social skills” like his au-pair liked to remind him. His brother could talk circles around his parents and get out of any trouble he had caused; he would blurt out any of his thoughts regardless of propriety and win new friends over with his contagious laugh. And Thoros would hide behind endless books, and hope whoever Theo had befriended last wouldn’t hate him too much.

But in Hogwarts, he had his own friends who actually liked his quiet routines. Not Theo’s friends tolerating him, but his very own friends who sought him out. Hermione and Eileen loved studying as much as he did, and they spent their free time at the library without complaining. They helped each other out on assignments. They practised spells with each other. Hermione taught them about muggle literature, while they taught her about pureblood culture and ethics that she wouldn’t find in books. They found him funny, sometimes. He was happy.

Thoros supposed he should be bothered by Hermione’s blood status, but Abraxas’ public endorsement was as good as patronage, he had even asked his father about it. He had received a curt but clear answer. _New blood is hard to find, the Malfoys have their reasons. Keep an eye on her._ The Notts and Malfoys were old allies, and basically royalty if grandfather Cantankerous was to be believed. It would not do for a Nott to publically challenge a Malfoy. But Thoros didn’t need his father to tell him to keep Hermione close, he liked her well enough on his own. She didn’t laugh at him when he said he liked poetry, she looked at his paintings with adoration instead of mockery or pity, she brought him food when he forgot to go to dinner. And Eileen, well, Eileen had a sharp tongue and a taciturn mood, but she valued her time greatly and chose to spend it with them; and that was all he needed to know he finally, truly, really had friends.

He was also happy for his twin. Though Theo would never say so out loud, for he never wanted to hurt his brother despite what everyone thought of his big mouth, but he also desperately craved his own life. They had shared everything back at the manor, from toys to friends. And now, Theo had his own circle as well, with Abraxas, Tom, and a reluctant Byron. Thoros wasn’t sure how that came to pass, but he was happy for his brother nonetheless.

It was with those happy thoughts that he had boarded the train at the end of their first year. And those thoughts were what kept him sane when their father separated him and his twin for the duration of summer. _Theophile is the future head of this house, and it is time for him to be prepared._ Thoros has always known that of course, Theo was the heir, and he was the spare. But he didn’t expect to be separated from his brother. They always did everything together. Instead, he spent his summer painting while Theo spent it drilling. And every night, his brother would show up at dinner with an angry red mark on his face and eyes shining with unshed tears.

It broke his heart, so he stopped showing up at dinner. Being the spare had advantages, no one cared if you didn’t follow protocol. Instead, he started taking his dinner with grandfather Cantankerous in the west wing, where they had the most beautiful view of the sunset. Sensing his loneliness, his grandfather had told him that he should be happy he wasn’t the heir. First sons get the responsibilities; second sons get to have fun. What no one understood was that Thoros had no idea how to have fun, and Theo didn’t have a single responsible bone in his body. He put all of his pain into his paintings. And he practised his animation charm until he could do it silently.

He went back to Hogwarts with such optimism. After all, the first year was such a success, how different could it be?

Well, to say it was different would be a euphemism. First of all, Theo ignored him the whole ride, clearly hurt by his abandonment. He didn’t even let him sit in the same car. Second of all, Hermione appeared to have lost several pounds as well as her sense of humor. She cursed Byron Mulciber before he could finish the word “mudblood” and got detention on the first five minutes of the train ride. He could understand her actions, but she had never been that aggressive before. Besides, Byron wasn’t exactly wrong. As much as he enjoyed Hermione, her initiatin would take a lot more than Malfoy’s endorsement, and until she then she was in fact a mudblood. When he reminded her of that fact, she cast him out as well. Thirdly, the two brutes that bullied him at every event during his childhood, Crabb and Goyle, were sorted into Slytherin that year. Not that he was surprised, he had just forgotten, having missed all the summer parties, he hadn’t realized they’d be joining Hogwarts that year.

All in all, it was a rocky start. Their little group was divided, and remained so until the beginning of December. It was a Friday evening, and the boys were getting ready to go to bed hen an owl flew in and landed on Abraxas’s bed. The blond wizard opened the letter, and started shaking as soon as he started reading it. He was in tears by the end of it.

“Brax?”

Theo reached a hand to is friend’s shoulder.

“Darius, my father, dead, both dead, muggle bomb, they didn’t…”

His words died in his throat, turning into a guttural scream. And they all stood there, helplessly watching their friend fall apart.

Theo, it turned out, was the only sensible one. He summoned him a trunk, and made it for him. He then escorted him to Slughorn’s desk so he could floo home to Malfoy Manor, where they were to have a funeral with two empty coffins. They didn’t find anything to be buried. That last thought haunted him, scared him to his core. He used to think of his grandfather as an old cranky paranoid wizard, but maybe his fears of the muggles were founded. He had lived for over 150 years after all who knew the horrors he’d seen. If they could strike down scions of the Malfoy dynasty, what else could they do?

* * *

On Sunday evening, Tom made sure he was the first to greet Abraxas; or rather Lord Abraxas Malfoy the 2nd. He waited for him in the hallways near the common room and walked him back. When Abraxas started talking about his grief, Tom stopped him.

“You can’t expect me to buy that, Brax.”

“Show some respect, Riddle. Half of my family is dead, of course I grieve for them.”

Tom smiled at his adorably dim-witted friend, who was currently trying to stare him down even though they were the same height.

“Please, I know you, my friend. You have always dreamt of being the Lord Malfoy.”

He watched his cheeks heat.

“Admit it, when you first read that letter, a small part of you celebrated. You were happy to finally get your chance to shine.”

Abraxas pinned him to the wall, shaking like a leaf. And Tom knew he had him where he wanted.

“Come on, Brax. Don’t lie, not to me. You know I would never judge you. In fact, I admire you. You’re the leader your family needs, the leader it was meant to have all along. There is no shame in admitting that.”

He fixed his black eyes on his friend’s blue ones.

“You enjoy the new title because it was meant for you” he whispered, and Abraxas cast his eyes down, letting him go.

“Maybe something good can come out of this” he whispered.

“Of course it can.”

“I…”

“Your secret is safe with me, I would never betray my friend.”

Then, the unthinkable happened. The blond oaf hugged him, and Tom almost pushed him off. But he tolerated the few seconds it took the Lord Malfoy to get himself together before drawing himself back.

“I will avenge them, their deaths will not be in vain, I vow it.”

Tom smiled.

“I think I can help with that.”

He pulled him into an epty classroom, silenced it and warded the door; then summoned a book Hermione had so kindly lent him a year ago. Tom had actually cursed himself for not reading it sooner, for it contained the best bit of information he had ever gotten. He hadn’t told anyone yet, not even Hermione who had no idea what she helped him uncover. He showed Abraxas the Gaunt family line, starting with Salazar Slytherin and ending with Morfin and Merope Gaunt. The same Merope Gaunt that gave birth to him in a random muggle orphanage. Then he summoned another book, gifted to him by Theophile Nott who only wanted to get rid of it; that boy had no love for books. This one was a small, black leather bound tome, telling the tale of everything the great Slytherin had accomplished, including founding the Knights of Walpurgis.

According to that book, the Knights, lead by Slytherin, were meant to free the wizarding society from the muggle stain that plagued the world. The Order of Merlin, the original order, was created in response to Salazar’s knights, to protect said muggles. After Merlin’s death, the Order became an award and the Knights were all but forgotten.

Abraxas looked at him in awe.

“The Knights were never forgotten, they await their rebirth under their rightful leader.”

Then came Tom’s favourite moment of the whole year. Abraxas knelt in front of him.

“As the heir of Slytherin, the honour goes to you. And I hereby pledge my loyalty to you, my lord.”

Tom smiled, and waved him back up. He could certainly get used to this.

“This is how you will get your revenge, my friend. This is how we both get our revenge on the animals that tok everything from us. But this has to be done carefully. Let’s keep my lineage to ourselves for now. First, we’ll have to choose our fellow Knights, then we can start working on our plans.”

Abraxas sighed.

“It really is a shame, Slytherin’s heir baring such an ordinary name.”

“That name is an atrocity; I’ll give it to you. But just because it was given to me, doesn’t mean I have to keep it. We make our own destiny, don’t we?”

“Whatever name you pick will be synonym with glory.”

“Yes, it will.”

Tom gave Abraxas the task of gathering the new knights during the holidays, while he spent it looking for the Chamber of Secrets; another legend he found in that innocuous leather book. He gave himself two weeks to do that, how hard could it be to find a chamber that could hold a monster? Very hard, as it turned out. By the end of the holidays, he had found exactly nothing; not even a single clue. He had looked everywhere. He interrogated the ghosts, all of them, even the ridiculous Hufflepuff one. None of them knew anything about a Chamber of Secrets, though the Grey Lady was hiding something else from him. He put a pin on that, and kept looking. He did find a room on the seventh floor that could turn into anything he desired. He kept that knowledge to himself, as it was a secret Hogwarts chose to unveil to him and only him, which only confirmed how special he was. But he found no sign of any monster in it.

Tom didn’t lose hope though. It was his birth right, he’d find it eventually. He headed to the empty classroom where Abraxas pledged his loyalty to him, ready to greet his Knights; another birth right.

He found Malfoy, the Nott twins, Byron Mulciber, third years Remy Lesrange and Orion Black, and first years Gustave Avery, Cygnus Black, Evan Rosier, John Crabbe and Gilbert Goyle. They were all chatting loudly, so he silenced the room before proceeding to stand behind Abraxas. The latter, understanding his role, silenced his housemates and announced the reason for the gathering.

“We have all heard the stories of the sacred order of the Knights of Walpurgis, torn down by the traitor Merlin before they could accomplish what they were meant to. Well tonight, we start what our ancestors couldn’t finish. Tonight marks the rebirth of the Knights under our new leader, Tom Riddle.”

A laugh filled the air.

“Nice one, Malfoy. Two weeks as a lord and you’re already defiling your daddy’s name” said Lestrange.

“Say that again, Remy, I dare you.”

Lestrange took a step towards them.

“You’re expecting me to follow a mudblood as leader? Or a halfblood, at best.”

Tom felt his blood boil, but kept his temper in check. This was good, he needed to work on his emotions anyway.

“Tom has suffered at the ends of the Muggles, more than any of us. That makes him more motivated than anyone here.”

Abraxas was good. Tom hoped he’d be good enough.

“If you were gonna choose a Muggle orphan, you should have picked Wool, she put a Muggle in the hospital from what I heard. Permanently fried her brain. Now _that_ is what I call motivated.”

“I said no girls” muttered Orion.

“Which, by the way, I still don’t get the reason behind that rule. Walburga is the most vicious witch I know, we could use her” said Gustave.

“Because I don’t wanna deal with my cousin any more than I have to” replied Orion.

“I second that” muttered Cygnus next to him.

Tom was starting to get bored, and he could feel the meeting slipping from him.

“This is ridiculous, what do you guys really expect to accomplish?” asked Theo.

“What _we_ expect to accomplish? Whose side are you on, baby Nott?”

Lestrange was now towering over Theo.

“ _We_ are still students, Lestrange. There isn’t much we can do from the comfort of Hogwarts.”

Theo glared at him.

Tom finally spoke.

“Thank you, Theo. That is an excellent point.” He wordlessly silenced Lestrange, who was about to retort, with a flick of his wand without interrupting his speech. “The knights’ mission won’t be accomplished overnight. But before we can start any plans, we need to train, to be worthy of the privilege to carry out Salazar Slytherin’s vision. And I am here to offer you a chance to be part of that.”

When he was done, they were all staring between him and Lestrange.

“I don’t like people interrupting me, Remy. You can get your voice back when I know you have learned your lesson.”

Lestrange emphatically nodded. The idiot still needed to shout his spells apparently. Tom obliged his and cast a silent finite.

“Where did you learn how to do that?” Lestrange asked.

“The real question is, am I willing to teach you? The answer is, I will teach you magic you have never even dreamt of. Real magick, not the diluted horse shit Hogwarts is filling our head with. The kind of magick that will put us back at our rightful place, on top of the world.”

“Magic is might” Rosier said gravely.

“We’ll discuss politics later” Tom nodded with a smile, “first, let’s make decent wizards out of you.”

Abraxas knelt first, and the others followed him, some more reluctantly than others. Tom would have to work on that, but this was a fine start.


	8. Granger's back bitches

**Granger’s back bitches**

1940

So far, Hermione hated her second year. It had started with a horrible fight with Thoros, for which he still hadn’t apologized. Then, Callie had stopped talking to Lucretia because the latter had her parents arrange her betrothal to Deo Selwyn during the summer without telling her best friend; and now the two friends could barely stand to breathe the same air. That had created a drift that shattered the comfort of their previously tight knit dorm. And then the unthinkable had happened, Germany had invaded Poland, and amongst the first casualties were Abraxas’s father and brother. Their friend had come back from the funeral looking older than his 12 years.

And then, Tom had developed the habit of flaunting his natural legilimency in her face. And when she showed her annoyance, and, yes she could admit it, her jealousy, he had gone and created his stupid little boys club with Abraxas, and started avoiding her.

She couldn’t help the pang of jealousy that gripped at her heart, jealousy that transformed into anger. An anger that she was going to take out him all summer.

But even that was denied her, for summer brought with it The Blitz. Bombs were falling on them at irregular intervals, so that they never felt safe. The orphanage became over crowded with casualties of war. Rations became even smaller than the meagre food they were used to. By the end of summer, they weren’t sure if it would be the hunger or the bombs that would kill them. She was scared, for herself, for the countless babies that were now housed with them, for her only friend who seemed to be taking it a lot worse than her. Tom had become near catatonic, mumbling to himself something that sounded like “not supposed to be like this” over and over again. His pale skin had turned almost translucent, and for the first time, she saw him as one of the little ones, one she had to protect and soothe. And when a stray rock had landed on his head, drowning his face in blood, her heart had almost stopped and she immediately regretted avoiding him all that time. Thankfully, it had only been a scratch that barely scarred.

The event, however, had made her sign up for first aid lessons that were given in medical military tents around the city. With the war raging, it was all hands on deck, and the hardened nurse that gave the lectures didn’t even bat an eye at her age.

By the time they boarded the train back to Hogwarts, all those messy emotions had turned into one, rage. She was angry at the headmaster for refusing to put up wards around the orphanage despite her begging him to before term ended. She was angry at the muggles that waged war from their cosy desks while good people died on the streets. She was angry when Abraxas asked if she was having lady problems, so she had punched him in the face since he was the only one she had access to, and spent the rest of her ride with the fourth years instead.

Fortunately, third year seemed to be different. Thoros and Theo had made up, and thus Thoros was a lot less nasty and they were able to resume their friendship as well. Lucretia and Callisto were now proclaiming themselves as sisters to anyone who was close enough to hear them. Tom had gotten his personality back the minute he had boarded the train and been able to keep a tight grasp on his wand. He had taken the habit or constantly twirling it between his fingers. She suspected he even slept with it under his pillow. She suspected that because that was what she did herself. She was still jumpy when she heard sudden moves, and clutching her wand under her pillow made her feel safe.

Third year also came with new electives that were a lot more natural to her than whatever mind magic Tom liked to dabble with. She teased him for believing in divination, and he actually teased her back. He was still disappearing with his fan club, but she had let go of her resentment. He was alive, he was with her, and he was talking and not just staring numbly at trembling walls, and she was grateful for that.

Hermione could honestly say her third year was a good one. There had even been an incident that, in her first year, would have sent her to bed in tears. Instead, it had sparked something else in her that she hadn’t identified yet, but that she wouldn’t give back for the world.

They had been invited to the Slug Club for the first time, as it was for third years and higher. She had transfigured her uniform into a more casual and fashionable outfit with Lucretia’s guidance. She was quite satisfied with her wandwork, and had gone to the party in high spirits. Halfway through dinner, Walburga Black, -aka the most unpleasant of the Blacks, currently a 6th year student-, had passed by her muttering “mudblood” and “finite”. Her outfit had immediately turned back into her uniform. Hermione had taken a breath, excuse herself and returned to the common room intent on letting her temper out on a few innocent armchairs.

Her plan had been thwarted by Leto Zabini, who was reading on the couch still dressed in his dinner clothes. He startled when she slammed the door, and turned to scowl at her.

“Oh it’s you, I was just gonna start yelling. Thought I’d be the only one to bail so early.”

He eyed her as she took a seat on the sofa across from him.

“That’s not what you were wearing, was it?”

She picked angrily at loose threat on the cushion under her.

“Walburga Black.”

He snorted.

“She did you a favour; those parties are so boring they might just be deadly.”

She kept pulling at the thread, wishing for even that small destruction to silence the angry voices currently screaming in her head.

“You disappoint me, Wool. Not an easy task, but you managed it.”

She looked up at him. His curly hair was cropped short with beautiful patterns shaved on the side, his skin was a beautiful shade of brown, and his black eyes were boring into her as if trying to read her minds. Which, with her being friends with Tom, wasn’t such a crazy idea. Only Zabini and she weren’t friends. They certainly weren’t enemies, but this was already the longest conversation they’d ever shared in over two years.

“Well, get in line.”

She really wasn’t in the mood to be beaten up.

“Have I ever told you the story of how I got my first beating?” he asked, and she almost told him to sod off, but her curiosity got the better of her and she shook her head.

“We were in Italy, my mother, my little sister and I. We fancied a boat ride in Venice. We didn’t want to wait till night time when muggle repellent charms would take effect, so mom warned us about not doing magic in front of muggles.”

His voice was cold, almost mechanic.

“We step out of the wards, walk five minutes before we’re assaulted, a mother and her children. I thought I had screwed up, or maybe my sister couldn’t control her magic. But no, it was because of the colour of our skin. I was eleven.”

She almost snorted at that, before realizing how sheltered his life had really been if that was really his first encounter of racism. She almost lashed out at him, but he didn’t stop there.

“And then you show up, a black girl that survived a muggle orphanage, a muggle-born who survived in Slytherin. I admired you. And then you let Walburga Black of all people get to you on something as trivial as a wardrobe malfunction.”

He laughed at that and picked his book back up.

Hermione gaped at him. She wanted to snap back at him with a witty but savage insult.

“It’s not trivial.” Was all she could come up with.

He shrugged.

“It is what you make it to be.”

“I need to be presentable.”

“Of course you do, but as mother always says, style over trends.”

She looked at him, her hand limp on the chair, thread forgotten. She vaguely remembered that his mom was a stylist.

“She called me a mudblood. Again.”

Why was she pouring her heart out to him? Was she expecting comfort from pureblood Leto Zabini? Had she learned nothing from last year’s Thoros fiasco?

“So?” he snorted.

_There it was._

“Wear it like an armour, and they won’t be able to use it anymore.”

He had discarded the book again, but he was lost in the fire as he talked to her.

“You know, in a way, you are lucky. You get to be whomever you want, you get to pick whatever path you seek, not expectations. The name Wool is yours to make of it whatever you desire.”

She thought about Wool’s, the orphanage and a wave of regret and disgust washed over her.

“That’s not my real name.”

He turned to her at that, smirking.

“The plot thickens.”

“It’s Hermione Granger.”

His smirk turned into a smile.

“Granger” he said, tasting the word, “well then Granger, I can’t wait to see what you will make of it.”

Hermione had immediately gone to bed after that. The next day was a Sunday, and the whole cast was asleep while she made her way to the come-and-go room. She hadn’t told anyone about that room, not that she believed she was the only one aware of it. But it was something she had discovered on her own, and wanted to keep to herself. She asked for clothes and the room had turned into a giant closet of mismatched discarded clothes that stretched as far as the eye could see. 

She thought of style. She didn’t think she had much style. She thought of Lucretia that always looked like an ethereal being. She thought of Callisto that always looked like she could kill you without smudging her lipstick. She thought of Eileen who looked like a medieval witch ready to turn anyone into a toad. Then she thought of the stern greying nurse that trained her, in her trousers and sensible shoes, who emanated an aura so strong no one dared to defy her. She found them all beautiful.

Hermione looked for sturdy pants, and flowing blouses, and cloaks, all in black and deep greens and blues. She then spent the entire day practising what she had read about for over a year, permanent charms and enchantments. She sewed some ruins herself. She worked on the wand movements. She made every garment fit her perfectly and adapt to her growing. She made them water and dust repellent. She even managed to make the cloaks resistant to minor spells. Some spells she had to cast by the sunlight, others would have to wait for a full moon or a storm. By the end of the day, she was exhausted, and her magical core was probably depleted. But she was the happiest that she had been in a while.

The next dinner she went to, heads turned wherever she passed. Zabini had raised his glass to her from across the room, before leaving early as usual. Walburga had tried a finite that rebounded on her cloak and sent the older witch to the ground. And Hermione had joined everyone else in the laughter at the girl sprawled on her bum. The angry voices were no longer screaming in her head, merely purring.

She had also started a friendship with Zabini, and Greengrass by extension, who were fortunately not part of whatever group Tom and Abraxas had schemed. She tried asking them why not, all she had received was a cryptic “we don’t do politics” from Eugene Greengrass. That answer seemed ridiculous to her, because what would a bunch of 13 year olds know about politics. But that didn’t concern her. Hermione Wool was jealous and scared. Hermione Granger gave zero fucks.

* * *

Tom didn’t remember much about the summer before third year. He knew there were bombings. He knew he would be safe. The heir of Slytherin wouldn’t be taken down by mere muggle weapons. _The heirs of Malfoy were, what makes you think you’re better than them?_ He didn’t know where that voice had come from, but it instilled a fear in him he had never felt before. Not even when he thought Dumbledore would expel him. He didn’t want to die, not like this, not this young, not when he still had so much to accomplish, so much to prove. It was not supposed to happen like this. Not like this.

His brain must have protected him from it, or most likely his magic, as it all seemed like a blur to him. He had felt himself come alive the minute his beloved yew wand was in his hand.

Third year was almost boring for him, were it not for his additional side project. He had decided he couldn’t die. He wouldn’t let himself be bested by death in his prime like his mother had. Magic could do anything, certainly it could ensure one would stay alive until they completed their purpose. Between training the sorry-ass purebloods that used to look down on him, his quest for the chamber that was going nowhere, and his search for immortality that at least brought him clues and references, he barely had a moment to rest.

He was also still training on his legilimency. He had deducted he was naturally gifted, but he still needed to perfect it. And Hermione didn’t like it, so he trained on his beloved oblivious knights. He could hear all of their thoughts now, when he only used to sense feelings and intentions. And he even managed to catch glimpses of images. By the end of the year, he could almost control which memory he wanted to get to instead of merely listening to their train of thought. On an another thought, third year had been a good year. He would still need someone to test his occlumency shields, but not until he was sure of himself.

They had been able to choose electives. Which mean Hermione and he had more subjects to debate, especially when it came to the subtle art of divination (that she didn’t even take) compared to the brutish ordinary ways of arithmancy. They had both agreed that ancient runes had too many potential uses to dismiss.

There had only been one incident that had shaken him. Well it hadn’t shaken him, he just hadn’t been prepared. They knew boggart classes were coming, but it had to wait until Professor Merrythought found one and surprised them one morning. For the first time ever in a practical lesson, he had stood at the very end of the line, glaring at anyone who tried to stand behind him. He had no intention of showing his worst fear to a whole classroom of people. Instead, he just stood there and catalogued their fears.

They were all quite boring, spiders, and werewolves, and even snakes for one shameful Slytherin that he shall not name (Theo Nott). Some were funny enough without the ridikulus incantation (who was scared of clowns?? Idiots like Myrtle Warren, that’s who). The most interesting, as always, had been Hermione’s. The boggart had taken her form, only she looked younger, like the day she had appeared at the orphanage. Upon closer inspection, she was like she had been two months after arriving there. Her skin was ashen, with tear strikes on her hollow cheeks. But her voice was haunting. She was cackling and teen-Hermione.

“You think you can fool them, you think you can make them all believe you’re strong and capable. You and I both know you’re still the weak little girl waiting for her daddy to come rescue her.”

Her cold cackling died in her throat as Hermione turned her into a beautiful ballerina spinning inside a music box.

He remembered her first two months, she had spent them all sitting on front of the iron bar door, waiting for her parents. He had told her not to be weak.

The professor had dismissed them then. Tom had lingered in the hallway, disillusioned, while the others went down to dinner. He then went into the classroom, and opened the closet housing the boggart. Two skeletal hands appeared first, crawling out of the darkness, dragging a corpse that still had caked blood on his face, then came the body and the legs. He approached it and looked at his own dead face staring back at him with empty eyes.

_I don’t need a creature to tell me I don’t want to die._

He waved his wand and muttered “ridikulus”. Strings appeared and raised the limbs, shaking them into a grotesque dance. He laughed louder than he ever naturally does just to spite the creature and it disappeared in a puff of smoke.

As he walked back to his common room, he reiterated his promise to himself that he would never be that weak.

_Weak._

He smiled then. Hermione was just like him. No wonder fate acted to unite them. They were both stronger than a boggart form. Neither of them would die.


	9. Secrets

November 1942

The slytherin fifth and sixth years stood in the hallway outside Slughorn’s office while he interrogated Theo.

“Now lad, your father and I were very good friends, I would hate to call him with a matter as gruesome as this one. Just tell me what you know, and we’ll all be on our merry way.”

Theo shook his head. He was so pale Horace worried he would throw up on his expensive carpet.

“I don’t know anything, sir.”

“What do you know about the Chamber of Secrets?”

“What everyone does, I suppose. The legend, nothing more.”

“Why were you in the girls’ bathroom?”

Theo hiccupped, holding a hand over his mouth to stop from throwing up.

“I heard… something. I wish I’d stayed outside.”

“Go to the infirmary, Theo. You’re excused from your classes tomorrow. Take some rest.”

Horace sighed. He had been teaching for quite some time now, and he could honestly say he had never been in this situation before.

* * *

September 1942

Theo sat in his corner against the window, reviewing his calculations for the hundredth time. It was unusual for him, not participating in the conversation. He didn’t even look up when the trolley lady passed by. Abraxas tried including him at some point but he just shushed him.

Now you might be wondering what Theophile Nott, prankster master, was doing with arithmancy when the school year hadn’t even started yet. You might even be wondering what Theophile Nott, last of his class, knew about arithmancy. Well the truth was, while he hated school work with a passion, arithmancy was natural to him. Numbers didn’t lie, numbers didn’t have feelings like magic sometimes seemed to have, numbers were logical to him, his mind making the connections no one else saw. Besides, he wasn’t doing school work, that was a pet project of his that had started as fun and ended up being an obsession he couldn’t shake.

And he had spent the entire summer doing, and redoing, and reredoing his calculations. And he got the same results each time without fail. He tried different methods, different data, different everything. The end result was always the same. Someone was going to get hurt that year. And someone he knew would get into trouble. And it somehow had something to do with the stupid Knights of Walpurgis thing that Abraxas dragged them all into in his efforts to look lordly.

Theo didn’t know what to do. This was not something he was used to. He was never the responsible one. No matter how much his father tried to groom him, he never quite got the hang of it. Even when his father ordered the elves to slap him, or when he grounded him, or made him watch the elves punishing themselves; he was not cut out for responsibility or leading. The truth was, he hated it. He hated giving or receiving orders. He hated thinking about anyone other than him. He hated watching other people’s pain. He was a quidditch beater, a passable student (arithmancy non-included), a prankster, and could fly no matter how much alcohol he consumed. Those were the sum of his qualities. That was it.

Now, what was he supposed to do with that warning? Send a bludger towards it? That probably wouldn’t work.

He sat through the whole carriage ride with his brows knitted together. He didn’t even bet during the sorting ceremony. He picked at his food, then went straight to bed.

He waited until everyone was asleep to walk to his twin’s bed, and climbed next to him.

“Rossie?”

“Mmph” Thoros grumbled in a sleepy face, and reached for his wand to light it.

Theo silenced the drapes around them before turning back to look at his brother.

“Theo, if you woke me up because you had a nightmare, I swear to Morgana…”

“No, not a nightmare. Well, kindof. Thoros, I think something bad is going to happen this year.”

“You saw that in a nightmare?”

Thoros was smirking at him now, and he reached over to smack his head.

“I’m serious, no dreams, no nightmares. Just arithmancy.”

“Is that what you’ve been doing? Theo, anyone would have nightmares after staring at all those numbers for hours.”

“Will you stop with the nightmares?! The results are all the same, they point to death and secrets and retribution.”

“Alright, Theo, very ominous and dramatic. Nice one. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going back to sleep.”

“No, wait, what are we going to do about it?”

“What are we going to do about a couple of equations pointing to death? Nothing, go to sleep.”

“Thoros…”

“I mean it, Theo. I’m glad you finally have an academic interest, but there’s no need to drag me into your obsession. Go to sleep, or go stare at your numbers. Either way, leave my bed.”

“So you don’t believe me?”

“I believe you believe it.”

“Screw you, Thoros.”

“Love you too brother” Thoros said while he climbed out of his bed.

Option 1 was a bust. He would try option 2 three days later, during quidditch practice. Abraxas and he were flying around the pitch, practising their coordination as the Slytherin beaters. Brax was his best friend, he would believe him. Right? Wrong. The stupid git was laughing so hard he almost fell out of his broom.

“Never knew you were a seer, Theo, good to know. Tell me, what do the numbers tell you about our next match?”

“If Mcgonagall plays as keeper, we’re screwed, but we could win if our seeker is fast enough. That’s not the point Brax, focus.”

“Wait, I need to warn Flint. If that little shit misses the snitch, I’ll kill him.”

Abraxas flew away, and Theo chased after him.

“Brax, wait, what are we gonna do about what I said.”

“We are going to throw bludgers at Flint until he can take hits without flinching. And then we’ll destroy the lions.”

“I meant about the…” Theo looked around before lowering his voice “the knights and death and all that.”

Abraxas looked at him with pity now.

“Theo, mate, you’re kind of worrying me now. The knights meet to train in spells. Unless Crabbe finally hexes his own face off, I really don’t see what you mean.”

Theo huffed and flew to the store room to release the bludgers.

Option 2 was useless.

Option 3 was sitting in the common room that night playing chess. Eileen Prince and Callisto Selwyn were sitting across from each other, in deep concentration. Those two were so cunning; they would definitely know what to do. The minute he sat down next to them, Selwyn snapped at him.

“Not now, Nott.”

“It’s important, I swear.”

“Beat it, Nott” drawled Eileen.

“Just one minute. Something bad is going to happen.”

“Something bad is going to happen to you if you make me lose this game” said Callisto while moving her knight.

“No I mean this year, someone is going to die.”

“You’re going to die if you keep blabbering in my ear” muttered Eileen, hands clasped under her chin, eyes narrowed in concentration.

“Just, please, just one of you look at my calculations and you’ll see”

At that, they both looked away from the chess board, first looking at him then at each other before bursting out in a laugh. Callie wiped a tear from her eyes while Eileen clutched at her belly.

“Fine” he huffed, “ignore me, when the package is this pretty no one cares what’s inside.”

That set them off even more, and he stood up in a huff, looking around the common room. He saw Tom reading a book by the fire place, and shuddered. He didn’t even want to get started on _his_ numbers. One problem at a time. He skipped the knights meeting that night and went to bed for another sleepless night.

The next day, he walked to the library looking for option 4, the last viable option. She looked up at the sound of his footsteps approaching.

“Hey Theo!”

“Yeah, don’t Hey Theo me, I am done. This is your problem now” he said while throwing his notes at her.

Hermione raised her eyebrows at him.

“Okay, maybe I should have started from the beginning.”

“Please do.”

When he was done talking, she started going over his equations one by one. After she was done, she took out a blank parchment and started from the top. He reached over to peer over her shoulders, and saw her using latin, then gaelic, then greek. She went through his whole process one more time, going from Pythagorean to Chaldean to Chinese methods. She had written over five different parchments when she was done.

“It’s all the same” she whispered.

“Yeah, secrets, death, retribution; every time, without fail.”

She looked at him with wide eyes.

“What are we going to do?”

“Oh thank fuck!” he exclaimed before kissing each of her cheeks.

“I did my part, that’s it, it’s your problem now!”

“Theo, sit your ass back down.”

He pouted and sat back on the chair he had just left.

“What the hell are the knights of Walpurgis?” she asked.

“Oh that, right, the stupid club Brax invited us into”, he answered, rolling his eyes.

“You called yourselves the knights of Walpurgis?” she snorted.

“No, we didn’t call our… look, that’s not important. What’s important is, someone finally believes me. I can forget about it.”

“But how do we stop it?”

“Aren’t you like the super smart prefect?”

“I don’t know what or who the knights are, or how they relate to this. There’s not much I can do.”

Theo sighed.

“I’m not getting out of this, am I?” he asked.

“Afraid not.”

He sighed again, louder, to make her take pity of him. It did not work.

“Okay, how about I start going back to those meeting and report to you?”

She chewed on her lips, and nodded.

“Alright”

* * *

November 1942

Theo had spent over two months spying on the Knights, while Hermione researched anything that could kill them inside the school. Unfortunately, literally anything could kill them in that blasted castle and they were both exhausted.

They met around the entrance of the Restricted Section of the library, hidden in an alcove. They made sure no one followed them before casting every silencing spell then knew.

“So, what did you find out?” she asked him.

“Brax, Remy and Tom have been having their own secret meetings on the side. I thought they were just doing the nasty, turns out it’s even nastier. They’re looking for the Chamber of Secrets.”

Hermione gasped.

“As in Slytherin’s monster filled legendary Chamber of Secrets?”

“That would be the one.”

She felt as alarmed as he looked.

“How close are they?”

“They sounded frustrated, but also I have no idea how this has been going on so I’m not sure.”

Hermione picked at her cuticles, her thoughts racing in her brain. She turned to face him again.

“We need to find it before them if we’re going to stop it.”

“Sure, shall we do that before or after lunch?”

Hermione slapped his arm.

“What are you hitting me for?” he gasped at her dramatically while rubbing his arm, “I’m not the one trying to kill you.”

“We need to find that damn Chamber.”

“I’m all ears, Mione, how do we do that.”

Hermione let the nickname slide as he was currently the one person trying to save her and he looked like a kicked puppy whenever she told him she hated that nickname.

“Theo, remind me. Who are Slytherin’s descendants?”

“The Gaunts. Horrible people. I met the son, Morfin, in the ministry when I was a kid. Scared the shit out of me.”

She nodded distractedly, trying to think of why that was so familiar. She vaguely remembered reading about them in her first or second year.

“Weren’t they on the board of directors at some point?”

“Yeah, until Marvolo lost his marbles and decided we were all beneath him. Why?”

“Because… wait did you just say Marvolo? As in Tom Marvolo Riddle?

“Tom M Riddle is for Marvolo?? Fuck. That means if he finds it, he will be able to open it.”

Hermione nodded, but that wasn’t what bothered her, surprisingly. No, something else was bothering her, like she had forgotten an important piece of information. She could almost see it, at the edge of her mind.

She rushed to the library, going through the spines with her fingers, mumbling to herself. She was sure she had read something about one particular Gaunt that had stayed with her.

“Mione?”

“Shh, I almost got it.”

She kept going through the books until she found what she was looking for.

“I’m sure it’s here.”

“Hogwarts a History?”

Hermione flipped the pages until she found the one she wanted. She knew that book back to back, she was certain of herself. She showed that page to Theo.

“Here, read this.”

“Alright, so great grandpa Gaunt brought us indoor plumbing, cool, I’ll send him a prayer next time I take a leak. Why is that relevant?”

“Not that, below it. He didn’t just order it, he drew the plans himself and supervised literally the whole thing. At first, I thought he was just eccentric…”

“Well the Gaunts are quite eccentric” he mumbled

“But maybe it was more than that. Maybe he wanted to hide something.”

“Like a giant monster that could kill half the students.” Theo’s eyes lit up.

“So the entrance has to be hidden in a bathroom.”

Hermione watched all the blood drain from his face.

“I just passed Brax waiting in front of the second floor girl’s bathroom.”

“And you didn’t find that suspicious??”

“I thought he was waiting for a girl…”

“Theo, the second floor’s bathroom doesn’t work.”

They seemed to come to the same conclusion and both bolted out of the library. Madam Grace, the librarian, stopped them at the door to admonish them but Theo spoke quickly before she could place one word.

“Detention tonight, got it Gertrude, see you later” he said in one go before grabbing Hermione’s hand and resuming their sprint. They arrived in front of the bathroom less than five minutes later. Abraxas opened his mouth at the sight of them, but Theo tackled him before he could utter anything. Hermione walked past them, with a hand putting pressure on the side of her abdomen. White dots were floating around her vision, but she kept walking and found Tom staring at a sink. He met her eyes on the mirror.

“Tom”

He turned to her, his face emotionless. A crash behind them startled her and she turned to find Lestrange dragging both Abraxas and Theo by the ears. He kicked the door shut behind him and shoved the two younger students away from him.

“Those two were making too much noise out there, people were starting to stare.”

“Thank you, Remy” said Tom.

“Please don’t do this, Tom.” Hermione pleaded.

Lestrange snickered behind her.

“Of course, you’d want to save your skin, mudblood.”

Theo shoved Abraxas again.

“So that’s who you are now? You’re gonna kill half the school because you’re unhappy?”

“And there we have our blood-traitor, now it’s a party!”

Lestrange was smiling like Christmas came early. He turned to Tom.

“Alright half-blood, prove your worth. Open that chamber and let’s get this over with.”

Hermione was about to speak when Lestrange sneaked behind her and clasped his hand of her mouth, his other hand securing her around the waist.

“We have the perfect first victim, go on Riddle, I’ll hold her for you.”

Tom, still looking as bored as ever, lifted his pale wand and sent a red beam at Lestrange. The older student dropped to the floor behind her.

“This doesn’t concern any of you, Hermione, take Theo and leave.”

She opened her mouth to retort but Theo beat her to it.

“So you really want to unleash a monster that plans to kill literally the only person in this whole school that actually likes you.”

“I like him” intervened Abraxas.

Theo turned to face his best friend.

“Oh I’m not done with you either. What the fuck are you thinking?”

“In case you’ve forgotten, they killed half of my family, they killed your godfather” said Abraxas looking down his nose at him, “where is your loyalty, Theophile?”

“No, your lordship” said Theo, bowing sarcastically, “I have not forgotten. I loved uncle Marcus more than I love my own father as you well know, I loved Darius like a brother. But these people didn’t kill your family”

“As beautiful as that was, Theo, I am the Lord of the Knights…” Tom started before being interrupted.

“Taking the knee when we were 13 does not make you my Lord, Tom. If you knew half of the laws you love spewing around, you’d know it takes a lot more to swear allegiance to someone. That was literally child’s play.”

Theo’s voice had grown cold, and Tom’s face broke into a smile that Hermione knew too well and she quickly walked to place herself between the two of them. She looked at Theo and nodded at the door. He obliged her and dragged an angry-looking Abraxas. Turning back to her friend, she took a deep breath in.

“Tom, I know this chamber is your birth right, and I know you want answers. I would want them too, if I could find out anything about my family, if I were this close to finally getting it, I don’t know if I would stop.”

“Then why are you stopping me?”

“I am begging you not to kill us.”

“Stop saying _us_! I am not going to kill you. I am the heir, I can control it, it will only hurt those I order him to.”

“And then what? A nice one way trip to Azkaban?”

“No, then I find a scapegoat and live happily ever after.”

“Here’s what I see, you kill a couple of insignificant people, you find a scapegoat, you live in paranoia and fear of the Aurors using veritaserum, or Dumbledore using legilimency and you being found out. Without money, without a name, with a weak unproven claim to a dead founder, you’ll be back at Wool’s and drafted for the war is what you’ll be.”

They were both glaring at each other at that point.

“Is that what you think of me, Hermione? Because I’d be happy to prove you wrong.”

She walked towards until there were only inches separating them.

“I know you’re going to be great. I know, because I’ve known you since I was four, and I know that by the time you are done, no one will ever forget your name. But this” she waved her hand toward the sink, “is a mindlessly stupid idea. You don’t do something this big until you know you’re bigger. I thought you were smarter than that.”

She shoved him and he clasped her wrist in his hand, pulling her closer to him. She was a breath away from him now, every exhale of his made her curls fly around her face. She could count the faint freckles that splattered on his nose and cheeks. She could make out the dark brown of his iris from the black pupil.

“Say that again.”

“I thought you were smarter?”

He smiled, not the feral one, nor the fake one, but the crooked one that made her weak in the knees that she only saw when he was comfortable.

“Not that part.”

“Isn’t that cute?”

They both jumped at that, turning to find Lestrange slow clapping at them. His eyes were wild, and his hands were bloody. Behind him, written in his own blood, were the words “the Chamber of Secrets has been opened, enemies of the heir beware”. In one leap, he had Hermione pressed against him again, his bloody knife pressed against her throat.

“I really wanted to do this the nice way, Riddle. I was even going to give you the title you wanted and everything. But you had to go and ruin it.”

Tom was slowly circling him now, wand twirling between his fingers, Lestrange following his movements. In the dead silence, their friend’s voices resonated from the hallway.

“What am I supposed to do with these feelings Theo, if I don’t avenge them, if I don’t DO something for them, what else am I supposed to do?”

“You’re supposed to sit through those damn feelings Brax, not let them out on people. Feel them and fucking move on!”

Hermione felt Lestrange shaking with laughter behind her.

“It’s the fucking pussy convention today.” he managed to say in between chuckles.

He tightened his hand and the knife pressed a bit deeper.

“The chamber, Riddle, now.”

Tom attacked then. He started with a petrifying hex that Lestrange shielded using her body, when she became too heavy for him and he let her go, Tom followed with a quick stupefy. They both hit the ground at the same time. Tom lifted the hex from her body before sending an incarcerous towards Lestrange for good measure.

Theo and Abraxas stumbled in looking alarmed; the latter’s face red and tear streaked.

“What the fuck?”

Theo was looking at the wall while Abtaxas was looking at Lestrange’s rope bound body.

A high pitched scream startled all of them.

“Was anyone watching the door?” asked Abraxas.

“I think it’s safe to say he or she saw this” said Hermione, wriggling her hands together.

Theo circled Lestrange’s body, taking note of the knife and the gash on his forearm.

“Is he the artist?” he asked. At Tom’s nod, he smiled at him. “How good are your memory charms, Tom?”

Tom smiled then.

“Good enough not to kill him.”

Tom turned to the other two.

“You two, you look like you’ve been through hell and back, go freshen up, pretend you were anywhere but here, you have no idea what’s going on. Theo, give me 10 minutes, then go call Slughorn.”

* * *

Horace was seriously considering retirement. He was a slytherin, and a pureblood, and sacred 28, but he was also getting too old for this.

Callisto Selwyn came in, and he almost quit right then and there. He remembered her brother, and her father, and her uncles, and he was not looking forward to this.

“Callisto, dear, how are you doing today?”

“I’m spending the last sunny day of the year in a dungeon so, not great” she answered in a saccharine voice, her perfectly painted lips stretched in a smile though her eyes were as cold as they always were; her purple eyes that screamed “Selwyn” to anyone who knew them.

Horace chuckled.

“You’re absolutely right, my dear. So let’s make this quick, shall we? What do you know about the chamber of secrets?”

“Why are you asking me? The chamber was allegedly created by Slytherin, my name is Selwyn, S E L W Y N”

Horace winced.

“Well you can understand the circumstances…”

“I understand nothing, I won’t speak another word without the presence of my solicitor.” She fixed her eyes on the wall and ignored all his subsequent questions.

Horace finally dismissed her with a sigh. Zabini came in afterwards.

“Leto, my boy, how is your mother?”

“She’s fine, less so when she finds out her son was dragged out of class I suppose.”

“What do you know about the chamber of secrets, Leto?”

“You mean the scary story we tell to scare naughty muggleborns? Not much, although it’s a bit ridiculous if you ask me. The legend of Poveglia, now that’s a real horror story. So it all started in 1308…”

“You’re free to go, Leto, thank you.”

Lucretia came in next, impeccable robes on and soft waves framing her delicate face. Horace was just about to ask his question when she started her rant.

“Sir, with all due respect, why are you only interrogating us? The heir of Slytherin could be any other house. So unless you plan on interrogating the whole school, this whole ordeal is deeply unfair and I expected better from a pillar of our society like you…”

“You’re free to go, Lucretia.”

Horace looked at all the names he still had to interrogate and swore he would double his wrinkles by the end of the day. Hermione Granger came in.

“My star student! I hope you can help me here, dear. What do you know about the Chamber of Secrets?”

“The what? Is this another pureblood thing no one explained?” she exclaimed, obviously annoyed and he dismissed her instantly.

Abraxas Malfoy came in after her, and started sobbing as soon as he sat in the chair. Horace got up, hopeful that he would finally get an answer.

“Abraxas my boy, don’t worry, I’m right here”

“They’ve been dead for 3 years now…” Abraxas wailed before burying his face in his hands and sobbing some more.

Horace cleared his throat and dismissed him, ashamed at his bundle. He interrogated most of the house before he looked at the last name on the list. Tom Riddle entered his office. The usually collected prefect was in a dishevelled state, shirt untucked, and tie open. He sat with a vacant face, looking at his blood stained hands.

“Tom, I am so sorry for doing this to you at this time, but I’m afraid we need answers.”

Tom looked up at him and swallowed heavily, before nodding.

“Tell me everything.”

“Well, sir, I was heading for the library when I heard a weird sound coming from the ladies’ bathroom. I know that bathroom isn’t used, I was worried it was a first year in need of help. When I went in…” he took a deep breath to steel himself “Remy was… he was…”

“Take your time”

“Those words were written, I didn’t know it was blood at first, not until I saw the knife in his hand. He was laughing, he raised his knife to his throat. I had no idea he would do it. I should have called for someone sooner, or tried to stop him.”

Horace put his hand on his shoulder.

“You did everything you could in a very difficult situation, Tom, be kinder to yourself. Now, one last question. What do you know about the Chamber of Secrets?”

“Besides what Professor Binns told us about it, nothing, sir.”

“You’re free to go, Tom. Thank you.”

* * *

Tom walked away from Slughorn’s office, and waited until he was alone to let himself smile. He had wanted to create his first horcruxe today, and he had. Granted, he wanted to do it using his ancestor’s legacy and now, thanks to Nott and Lestrange, he’d never be able to unleash that monster, at least not while he was at school. But killing precious pure-blooded Lestrange to make his half-blooded self immortal was just as poetic. And using that to send a message to soft hearted Theophile was the cherry on top. Abraxas had known what would happen the minute he saw Lestrange threatening Hermione. And the latter knew him too well to question him at this point. Despite the change of plans, today was a good day. After all, the chamber wasn’t going anywhere, he could explore it whenever he wanted. He had all the time in the world, literally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to anyone reading this and accompanying me on this journey. I hope you're enjoying it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please don't hesitate to leave me any kind of feedback :)


	10. Aftermath

**Aftermath**

27 December 1942

Hermione sat in Dumbledore’s office, her braided hair piled in high top bun on her hair, a cup of tea primly held between two fingers. She observed the knick-knacks splattering the desk.

“Thank you for accepting my invitation, Hermione.”

She smiled and turned her gaze to the phoenix that was watching her just closely as its master. Its feathers were the most vibrant red she had ever seen, with flamboyant colours towards the tail.

“May I present to you Fumseck, my familiar. He has the same effect on everyone” he chuckled.

She ignored the bird and turned her attention to the bookcase behind the professors. Countless tomes were sitting behind various gadgets and contraptions. She tried to decipher each of the titles. Some appeared blurrier than they should at that distance.

“I haven’t congratulated you on your prefect post yet. There’s no doubt in my mind that Professor Slughorn couldn’t have chosen a better student for the job.”

She thanked him quietly and looked down at her cup of tea, suddenly fascinated by the wedge of lemon floating in the yellowish liquid.

“I should probably offer you my condolences as well, though I wasn’t sure how close you were to Remy, may he rest in peace.”

She looked up at that and cursed herself. The minute she met his blue eyes, the image of the grisly blood writing on the bathroom wall flashed in her head. She quickly averted her eyes to the window. She should have let Tom train her, or rather train on her, perhaps she’d stand a chance with Dumbledore.

“I have actually called you here today to discuss your potential career choices.”

Fixing her eyes on the magenta hat sitting on top of slightly greying auburn hair, she answered politely.

“I thought our head of house was supposed to do that.”

“Oh we will, of course, schedule appointments with our students during the term. But I’ve always felt a special connection to the students I introduce to the magical world. To be completely honest it is my favourite part of my job. Seeing the wonder children feel at things we take for granted always reminds me how lucky we are to have this gift.”

She had to stop herself from snorting and looked at the books again.

“Well I haven’t thought about my career yet. Since, as you can imagine, I know very little about our world, I will wait for the brochures Professors Slughorn will give us.”

“Of course. If you need any additional help, I would be happy to provide.”

“I will keep that in mind, thank you.”

She took a sip of tea, and picked up a biscuit to have something to look at. The blurry titles behind Dumbledore were starting to give her a headache.

“Forgive my forwardness, Hermione, but I couldn’t help but notice the rift between Tom and you. It would sadden me to see such close friends as you two drift away from each other so soon.”

Her cuticles always grew wrong when she picked at them, but she couldn’t help herself. And she had looked at literally everything there was to look at.

“Tom and I are fine, we always are.”

“Of that I have no doubt. Such are family, we forgive them everything.”

She smiled and nodded, still utterly fascinated by her fingers.

“May I offer you some advice that I wish someone had given when I was younger?” he continued without waiting for her answer, “just because you are master’s favourite slave, doesn’t make you any freer.”

Her smiled turned to a grimace, and she set the cup down on the desk before sitting on her hands to stop them from shaking.

“Hermione?”

She looked up, meeting his eyes and concentrating on image of the yellowish tea.

“Is there anything you would like to tell me?”

Yellowish tea sitting in an understated white china cup and its matching saucer, the saucer had watercolour flowers painted near the edges.

“No, sir.”

He let out a heavy sigh, and smoothed his beard down his chest.

“Thank you for indulging an old man, company becomes scarce as we age. You will see soon enough, I hope. Have a nice afternoon, Hermione.”

She walked out of the office faster than a kneazle lapping chain lightning. She ran down the flight of stair and didn’t stop until she got to the great hall. There, she put her back to the wall and breathed in deeply, trying to get her heartbeat down. She was seething. The man who had first thrown her into an orphanage, then into the magical world without so much a simple explanation of the social context really thought he was her friend. And he had dared using that phrase against her. _Advice_. He was either oblivious to the point of ridiculousness, or he knew exactly what he was saying and wanted to get a rise out of her. She hoped he’d seen nothing on her mind, then reminded herself that whatever he saw would never be accepted in the Wizengamot as it was obtained illegally. It did little to ease her worries.

She looked around her and set off to the entrance of the castle towards the lake. Tom was either at the library or the common room, her two favourite places in the Hogwarts, and she wasn’t exactly partial to him at the moment. So that left her the outer grounds. Sure she had protected him, because she wasn’t a snitch, and because Dumbledore was right, he was family. The only family she had. But she was still pissed at him. The minute she saw the black clad figure sitting under the oak tree she liked, she cursed under her breath. He heard, _because of course he did_ , and turned to her while he folded the top corner of the page he’d been reading and stood up to meet her.

“I knew you’d make your way here, it’s your third favourite place in the castle.” He smiled at her.

“I forgot something in the dorms” she said and turned on her heels but his hand on her arm stopped her.

“I’m not done talking to you.”

She shook her arm free and turned to scowl at him.

“And I’m not done being mad, so if you’ll excuse me.”

“No. Enough with this childish temper tantrum of yours, you didn’t even like Lestrange, what are you mad at me for?”

Hermione turned to face him fully at that.

“You think I’m mad he’s gone?” she put up a silencing spell before continuing, “good fucking riddance, the world is better without him. And yet you chose that dickhead to confide in instead of me. I had to discover you’re the heir of Slytherin by snooping around like a rat.”

He laughed at her and she almost slapped him.

“So that’s it? Hermione, I didn’t confide in him. They were insurance, Malfoy and him. I knew they’d protect me tooth and nail if they were incriminated with me.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. It wasn’t entirely nonsense. It didn’t appease her either.

“I’m still your family, I deserve better.”

“You are my family; you should trust me when I say time and time again that I would never do anything to hurt you.”

He stepped closer to her, and her breath hitched in her throat. When had he gotten so tall? And when had she started to notice things like the shape of his lips, or the flecks of black in the dark brown of his eyes. He seemed to have been doing the same thing because his gaze was on her lips and he was getting closer still. She stopped his with a hand on his chest, and he raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow at her.

“I do trust you, but I need you to trust me too.”

He smiled and got closer, pushing against her hand, his own flying to her waist.

“Do you really need an answer? It’s us or them, Hermione. Always.”

She moved her hand to his back. And when he kissed her, she briefly wondered why they had waited so long to do that before every thought fled her brain. All she was left with was the softness of his lips on her, the warmth of his hand on her cheek, then her neck, then rubbing at the baby hair at the base of her head. His other hand rubbing maddening patterns on her side. Her hand clutching at the back of his robes. Her hand threading in his soft hair. Her front pressed on his chest. Her knees weakening. She might have momentarily forgotten how to breathe. She didn’t really care, or she cared about was doing more of this.

* * *

In the north of Ireland, in Nott manor, sat Theo in the balcony of his room watching the grounds below him, ignoring the tears that had frozen on his cheeks. The plan was flawless, and he was sure Riddle had understood him. Modify Lestrange’s memory, make him believe hit was his idea of a prank to scare his fellow students, and the whole ordeal would have simply been a bad memory. Instead it had turned into his personal nightmare, one that he relived every time he closed his eyes. The blood splattered on the floor, Riddle’s hands supposedly trying to stop the blood flow, Riddle’s desperate eyes that had turned cold the second they met his, Slughorn offering them his condolences and praise at their strength. Theo got up and ran to the sink where he threw up for the third time since Yule break started.

* * *

31 December 1942

At the annual New Year’s Eve party held at Malfoy Manor, Abraxas dragged his best friend by the arm, smiling and nodding at his guests as he passed them. He didn’t stop until they were in the gardens, away from prying ears.

“Theo, I’m going to give you the same advice you gave me, which was the smartest thing I’ve ever heard you say by the way. Feel your feelings, then move the fuck on.”

“He’s dead…” he said, swaying on his feet, a glass of firewhiskey sloshing in his hand.

“So what, you never even liked the bloke? Hell I didn’t even like him.”

“But…”

“No, I am not going to watch you destroy yourself. Tonight, drink your fill, tomorrow we’ll start training again. I believe we have a chance at the cup this year, and I need you at your top game.”

Theo looked him up and down, and flopped down on a bench.

“Is that who we are now? We just watch people die and move on?”

Abraxas sighed and sat down next to him.

“That’s what all the living do, Theo. We move on and try to make some good come out of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am eternally grateful for the love and support !! Thank you.  
> Also I need to shoutout a youtube playlist by oliviaalee called "there is only power and those too weak to seek it; a tom riddle playlist" i have been playing it on repeat for a week and it has done wonder for my inspiration!


	11. The lord and his lady

Hermione and Tom spent the rest of her fifth year in a happy daze. Being together felt like being home. For the orphaned girl and boy who had never known what a real home felt like, thy found it in each other’s arms. They felt as if they were made for each other. And when he murmured to her one rainy morning in a hidden alcove of the library that fate had dropped her in that godforsaken orphanage so they could be reunited, she believed him. And when she whispered back that she would have torn the world apart just to find him, he smiled knowingly.

They still had problems, of course. All couples had problems, though being exceptional, their problems weren’t ordinary. They had one recurring fight, always out of prying eyes and ears, but they had it about once a week. Hermione wanted in with the knights. She believed that Tom’s refusal came from a lack of trust in her. He assured her, again and again, that she was being ridiculous. He stopped meeting with his knights every single week as they used to, just to stop her pestering. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her, he didn’t trust _them_.

They were having the same fight for… he’d stopped counting, on the bus taking them to the orphanage, where they would spend yet another summer stifling their magic, when she asked the question he hated.

“Is it because of my blood status?”

Tom took a deep breath, and turned to look at her. Her curly hair set free, floating around her heart shaped face, warm brown eyes, a few shades lighter than his, observing him for clues. He always joked that she looked like a kicked puppy when she raised her eyebrows that way. He had a feeling if he said at that moment she would lash out him.

“You do know I don’t give a flying fuck about that, right?”

“Well I don’t understand…”

“If any of them provoke you in front of me, I will rip out their tongues with my own hands. And since they are still useful to me, I would like to keep them around.”

She pouted her full lips, and he stopped himself from kissing it away. While the wizarding world hardly cared about what anyone did or didn’t do with their bodies, the muggle world still held on to useless things like “decency”.

“I’m pretty sure I’m more useful than a bunch of spoiled rich kids” she grumbled.

He smiled at her.

“Of course you are. But do you want me to tell them that, or do you want to prove yourself?”

She glared at him.

“I don’t need you to defend my honour.”

“Good, because that would become tedious and I don’t need another spoiled baby whose feeling I need to manage.”

He was getting tired of this conversation. He meant every word he said, or rather repeated. If she wanted in, she would have to work twice as hard as the other knights; because they needed to not only accept her, but embrace her. He had risen to the top of that little organization by his blood thirst more than his blood right. No one had batted an eye at Lestrange’s death, nor had they objected when he started reading dark books, or when he mentioned trying out unforgivable. Some had looked queasy, but all had bowed their heads. All but soft hearted Theo who had stoped joining them altogether.

But if Hermione, his Hermione, were to join them, she couldn’t just be another knight. How would it look for him to be fooling around with the help? No, she had to be more than that, had to be recognized as their proper lady at his side. And Tom, for all his dreams of world domination, sadly still needed to rely on democracy. She had to prove herself to him, to them, beyond a doubt. And he believed she could do it, but she still needed a little push in the right direction. She needed to fully accept the training he had offered her years ago. She had to let go of petty friendships and fully submit herself to him, and he’d be able to shape her into his greatest weapon, his mightiest ally, his true partner in every way. Only them would he allow her to join him in any plan.

Was he being a little harsh? Perhaps. But Lord Voldermort wouldn’t accept anythingless than perfection. A half-hearted ambition born from jealousy and fear of abandonment was not enough. He finally told her as much, and she clamped her mouth shut and turned away from him to watch the streets. She didn’t speak for a while. Not until they were in his room at Wool’s. That’s when she turned to him.

“Alright.”

He smiled.

“But I won’t be learning the little party tricks you teach your stupid knights.”

“Obviously.”

* * *

Thus began the most harrowing summer Hermione had ever lived, including the horrible summer after her first year. She didn’t react to her OWLs results. She barely registered the time flying. She was to master occlumency by the start of sixth year, as it was the only thing they could practise in the muggle world. And Tom attacked her mind, day after day. He dove into her memories as if they were open books for him to peruse at his leisure. He had seen everything. Including her first time with Zabini after making him swear an unbreakable vow to not use her virginal blood in any magical way. That had led to a fight that had rattled him so much she managed to slip past his own shields and witness his first time with a ravenclaw girl whose name she couldn’t recall. When she put her hand on her hip and stared him down, he merely shrugged.

“I wanted to test those virginal blood spells.”

That day had inaugurated the start of their physical relationship that barely put a dent in her “training”. Any tenderness he showed at night was turned off the minute they sat on the ground across from each other, legs crossed and beads of sweat rolling down their brows. By the end of summer, she had breached his shields exactly twice, but she was finally able to keep him out for more than five minutes. He would claw and scratch and beat at her walls, and she would take the migraines like a badge of honour. They kept it up throughout their sixth year, both the occlumency training and anything else they found the time for. Every hex, spell and curse he’d ever learned, he taught her.

She ignored Zabini’s and Theo’s warnings. Her friendship with both of them turned sour, but she didn’t need weak friends, she needed power. And that’s what Tom was offering her. When he asked to train her on resisting the Imperius, she barely blinked before accepting. And at the end of they, she was the one who suggested she should learn to withstand the Cruciatus curse, to which he had only smiled before setting the place and time. she savoured every second of it. And every pain, every scar, every scream, honed her into someone she had only dreamed of, only seen through Tom’s eyes the second time she peered into his mind. What she had seen that day had fuelled her ever since. She had seen herself as a queen of darkness, beautiful, unbreakable, deadly. And she had worked every single day to get there.

If her so called friends couldn’t understand her need for power, her need to become more, and more, and more, until the scared orphan was buried so deep underneath it all that no one recognized her, then perhaps they weren’t really her friends. She was almost happy she wouldn’t see Zabini after summer. And by the end of summer 1944, Tom had finally deemed her ready. He had knelt in front of her, kissed her hands, his eyes gleaming in the sun, and proclaimed her Lady of Walpurgis.

And she couldn’t wait to unleash herself upon the world.


End file.
